


Age of the Dragon

by ms_katonic



Series: Elisif the Dragon-Queen [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexuality, Crossover, Cute Kids, Epic, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Romance, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 65
Words: 466,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The High Queen of Skyrim should have the world at her feet, but some things even a Dragonborn can't command, such as the ravages of time, rock dust and Skooma. With her beloved husband dying, and her beloved five year old miserable, Elisif risks everything to petition the gods for a miracle. Except miracles come at a very high price...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The rewrite isn't quite done yet but I might as well post some of what I do have. Here it is, The Age of the Dragon, where Elisif goes to Thedas to be Inquisitor and Madanach chases after her. Except it's not that simple. I should put in trigger warnings for the opening being a bit sad. And for unhappy children. And depictions of physical and mental disability. Because Elisif can only get to Thedas if some serious magic's involved, and she's only going to invoke that sort of serious magic if forced to. Say by a dying husband and a little girl who wishes her dad could play with her like other daddies...
> 
> Spoilers for Dragon Age Inquisition, obviously, also for its prequel games and associated novels, although the exact choices I'm going with will be revealed later. Let's just say this is a world where the Warden was an elven mage who romanced Zevran and is still out there somewhere, Anora's Queen of Ferelden, and Hawke was a mage-sympathising rogue who supported her boyfriend Anders to the bitter end.
> 
> On the Skyrim side, this is a sequel to Wolf Queen Awakens and Fearless Vampire Hunters, so the Skyrim canon's diverged a bit by this point. To sum up, Elisif was the Dragonborn, the Empire won the Civil War, the Dark Brotherhood got wiped out, but only after Cicero turned on them after Elisif saved him from Arnbjorn, and now he's loyal to her and actually lives in Jorrvaskr now. Meanwhile Madanach's King of the Reach after meeting Elisif in Cidhna Mine and agreeing to ally with her in return for his kingdom back. They later got married, but only after Emperor Titus Mede II himself arrived wanting to find out just what this province was coming to, and decided a real, genuine Dragonborn leader who'd managed to sort out a war and save the world all by herself was worth keeping onside, so he ratified everything and adopted her. Meaning Elisif's not just a High Queen, but heir to the Ruby Throne, much to her chagrin.
> 
> The rest should hopefully become apparent in this fic, or wasn't really relevant anyway.

Second Seed, 4E 208. A beautiful summer's day in the city of Markarth. The city should be buzzing, should be out enjoying the sunshine. It wasn't.

Markarth was quiet, heads bowed, voices subdued, uncertainty and fear everywhere. The Reach had been free for six years now, an Imperial province under the rule of Madanach Saoirseach, King of the Reach and consort to the High Queen of Skyrim. In that time, the country had prospered and life had been good for most. Cidhna Mine no longer a prison but a working commercial silver mine, along with most of the other mines in the Reach, and governed by rigorous safety and employee protection legislation. Free healthcare for all citizens of the Reach provided by a free clinic operating out of Understone Keep. Regular Reachfolk festivals to keep the citizens happy. The odd Nord complaining of ReachGuard mistreatment but incidents were rare and usually settled quickly. On a wider level, Reach-Princess Eola, second in line to the throne, had taken over as Harbinger of the Companions after Kodlak Whitemane's death – she'd cured him of lycanthropy and he'd declared her the next Harbinger. It had raised a few eyebrows, but so far Eola had proved quite the effective leader, revising the Companions' rates, raising charges for wealthy customers but giving discounts to the less fortunate, and if the occasional traveller or petty criminal sometimes vanished near Whiterun, no one really gave it a lot of thought. 

Reach-Princess Eola and her husband Cicero had also been responsible for saving Skyrim as a whole from vampires determined to put out the sun, after a routine job involving investigating rumours of rogue mages in Dimhollow Crypt had led to discovering the Vigilants of Stendarr's Hall a shattered ruin and the blood trail leading towards Dimhollow, and inside vampires looking for something... and a vampire called Serana who'd asked for nothing more than her life and an escort home. The resulting favour resulted in Eola, Cicero, Eola's other partner Athis, and Serana eventually going on a hunt for Elder Scrolls to try and track down Auriel's Bow so they could bring down Serana's father, evil even by vampire standards. High Queen Elisif had been all too pleased to rally the Jarls and put together a joint Skyrim-Reach task force to get rid of the vampires based in her very Hold, and it had been Elisif's sword Dawnbreaker that had eventually finished Harkon off.

Castle Volkihar was now a thriving sea port, and Serana herself now lived in Solitude, having taken over as court mage after her father's vampires had killed her predecessor, enjoying the novel sensation of living among mortals, seeing life, seeing a city up close she'd always been excited about, getting to live in a beautiful palace and with no real responsibilities other than the magical research she loved. Then Nepos the Nose, Madanach's steward and oldest friend, had passed away in the winter of 205... and the rot had set in.

Depression, grief, increasing physical frailty, the fact that Cidhna Mine had savaged Madanach's lungs and twenty years of Skooma had savaged Madanach's mind, and two and a half years after Nepos's death, one thing was becoming clear. Madanach, King of the Reach, was dying.

“Are you sure this will work?” Lydia whispered. She'd served Elisif loyally and well as her housecarl since Elisif had returned in triumph to Solitude after her Dragonborn adventure. She'd smiled at Elisif's wedding, watched indulgently as little Princess Maia took her first steps, watched rather more anxiously as little Maia learnt her first spells... and held Elisif's hands as coughs wracked Madanach's body and Forsworn healers solemnly held up illusion-crafted pictures of a healthy human brain and lungs, and those of her husband and quietly told Elisif to prepare for the worst. Elisif had watched Kaie take over as Regent of the Reach and sobbed her heart out in private later. And Lydia had seen it all.

“No, but what choice do I have?” Elisif said quietly. “He's dying, Lydia. It's this or Keirine replaces his lungs with another man's and I'm not doing that. And that won't fix his mind.”

Madanach's mind was succumbing as well as his body, and while he still knew he was married, he didn't always remember who to. Elisif could feel him via the empathy bond that the Forsworn bound married couples with, and it broke her heart. When she wasn't there, she'd feel him wake... and feel him terrified, not knowing who was lurking in his mind... and fearing it might be his ex-wife. It broke her heart. As did coming back to Markarth to visit him, and seeing the wariness in once keen silver eyes as he shrank from her and had to be coaxed each time. But one thing did remain and that was that she could always coax him. That, once she'd whispered to him that Mireen was definitely dead, she would never hurt him again, he was married to her now and she'd look after him, he'd hesitate, whisper “Really?” and lean forward, smiling with the same disbelieving delight every time. And then things would be better... while she was there anyway. But always she'd have to return to Solitude eventually, and then would come the heartbreak as he'd cry when she left... and forget her as soon as she'd gone.

Elisif could live with this. What she could no longer cope with was what it was doing to their daughter. Five years old, Dragonborn, learning magic, fiercely intelligent and brave as any Nord... and little Maia needed to be. Her father was kind to her, always pleased to see her... but he was too frail to play with her, she had to be quiet and gentle around him so as not to hurt him, and while he mostly remembered she was his kin, he didn't always remember who she was. Maia had learnt to answer to the names Eithne and Amaleen as often as her own. And yet she just seemed to accept it. Elisif found her heart breaking every time but Maia was philosophical about it all.

“He can't help it, Mama, he's old and sick,” Maia would say sadly. “I know he loves me really.”

Elisif held Maia tight and tried not to cry. And Madanach wasn't getting any better, and Elisif didn't know what to do. But she did know her baby deserved better than an elderly father who spent most of his days bed-ridden or being wheeled about the keep in his Dwemer wheeled chair. Then Keirine had uncovered a ritual that might just work. It had to be worth a try.

Lydia and Elisif both heard Madanach coughing again as he sat by the fire in his room. Elisif shivered to hear it. 

_That fucking mine. Who thought that was an OK thing to do to a man – any man, even Madanach?_ Elisif thought execution would have been kinder – but then she might not have her throne if they had, and certainly not Maia. The little princess was in with her father now, assisting her teenage half-brother with looking after him.

“Daddy, look, I can do an illusion of a bird now, look!”

More coughing. Then...

“A bird? Hey... that's nice! Good work, Eithne, you'll be better than me soon.”

A pause, then a subdued little whisper.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Ach, that's all...” Madanach broke off to cough some more and then paused. “Wait... you're not Eithne. Duach, who's...”

“Aventus, Da. I'm Aventus. And that's Maia. We're your younger kids. Eithne's... not here.”

“Oh.” He paused again and then, rather tetchily: “Eithne never comes to see me any more. What's that about, huh? Too busy being Queen of the Forsworn to care about her old da, eh?”

Elisif decided now was a good time to intervene. She nodded to Lydia and walked in, smiling faintly at Madanach as he looked up, startled.

“Mama!” Maia cried, making her illusory parakeet vanish and running to her mother to hug the parent who reliably remembered who she was.

“Hello pixie,” Elisif whispered, cuddling her daughter with tears in her eyes. “Came to say goodbye.”

“Don't go,” Maia whispered, joy immediately vanishing. “Why do you have to go, I miss you!”

“I'm sorry,” Elisif murmured back, kissing her daughter's red hair, same colour as hers. Maia could almost be a mini-Elisif, save for the eyes. Those silver eyes were definitely Madanach's, as was Maia's affinity with spellcrafting. Elisif wasn't very good at magic, but Maia was a prodigy. It was heartbreaking to realise the father she inherited this from was too far gone to even acknowledge it.

Madanach had looked up at this point, eyes lighting up as he saw Elisif.

“Well, hello! My day just brightened up! I know you, don't I? Weren't you here earlier? You need to be careful, I think my wife is around. I don't want her to get jealous.” He shivered in his chair, real fear in his eyes. “You don't want to be around her when she's jealous.”

“Da,” Aventus sighed. “Da, that is your wife. You married Elisif.”

“I... did?” Madanach was staring at her, amazed, and Elisif smiled and nodded, vainly hoping he'd remember. He looked a bit confused, and then his face almost exploded in a brilliant smile and Elisif nearly gasped as the force of the emotion hit her. She should be used to it by now, but no. It still got her every time.

“I married _you?_ ”

Elisif nodded again, kneeling by his chair, eyes closed as arthritic fingers stroked her cheek.

“But you're beautiful,” Madanach breathed. “Look at you, gods, why, _how_ did you agree to marry me?”

Elisif bit her lip and smiled up at him, hoping the tears weren't too obvious.

“Because you're a handsome man, Madanach,” she whispered. Madanach laughed, and blushed a little.

“Yeah, I remember now. A little anyway – I remember kissing you,” Madanach sighed fondly. “And this morning too – that's a nice way to wake up.”

“Children, why don't you go wait outside, I need to talk privately with your father,” Elisif said primly, and Madanach's eyes did light up at that. Aventus also took the hint, seventeen and well aware of what sex was, and promptly steered Maia away, promising he'd bring her back later. The door closed behind them, and Elisif wheeled Madanach to the nearby pool, perching on the ledge next to it and resting her head on the armrail of his chair. Fingers in her hair and Elisif smiled sadly. He remembered so little some days, and yet he still loved her, even now. They even still had a sex life of sorts. True, it was a very gentle form of loving – nothing rough or even penetrative, but they would kiss, cuddle, get each other off, and afterwards Madanach would be more lucid. He'd remember more. He'd hold her and whisper he was sorry, she deserved better, she'd tell him better this than murdered by Ulfric and he'd hold her and whisper “we killed him, didn't we? You and me! I was Jarl of Windhelm, wasn't I!” And she'd smile and nod and for the next day or so, he'd be better. Still physically weak, but mentally more aware than ever. Until she had to leave, and when she returned, he'd be back to a vague, confused old man not sure where he was or who anyone else was.

“I'm going away for a bit, Madanach,” she whispered, heartbroken as his face fell and he shook his head as always. “I came to say goodbye.”

“No,” Madanach whispered, tears in his eyes. “No, you can't, you...” he broke off for another series of vicious coughs, wheezing a little before continuing. “Don't go,” he finally managed. “Don't leave me. I don't remember much but it's better with you around! Elisif, please...”

Elisif shook her head, taking his hand in hers.

“I have to,” Elisif whispered. “But I won't be more than a few days. It's... well, it's to make you better. So you remember things and don't cough all the time and can walk again without help or getting tired.”

Madanach didn't look convinced, in fact he was looking away, eyes screwed shut and she could feel the agony pouring out of him. Keirine had more than once offered to cut the bond, spare her at least, but Elisif refused. She couldn't do it. He'd think she'd died if she did, think she'd abandoned him. It was hard enough going back to Solitude for two weeks out of every month.

“I will be back, I promise,” she whispered. Madanach shook his head, looking and feeling utterly bereft. Elisif didn't say anything else. There wasn't anything she could say, there was nothing that would make him feel better about watching her leave. So she did what she always did. She turned and left, not looking back because it was bad enough feeling his pain. She couldn't bear actually looking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whiterun, and all was ready for the ritual. Elisif had gone to a lot of trouble to sort all this out. A large cash donation to the Temple of Kynareth. The fixing of the Gildergreen. Begging Jarl Balgruuf for logistical support. Having to move the Temple's patients to Jorrvaskr – well, the Companions had helped with that. That had been easy, Eola had been happy to help if it meant even a chance of getting her father back. And so here they were in a cleared out Temple, lights dimmed, Whiterun guards on the outer doors, Oculatus on the inside, Lydia at Elisif's back in case something unwanted came through, soul gems everywhere, sigils on the floor and walls, a goat sacrificed, Keirine chanting and opening something, in conjunction with Serana's vampire mother Valerica, Eola and Serana assisting with power raising and Elisif in the middle, adding a few drops of her own blood to the chalice Keirine was holding to seal the deal. An arcane ritual to summon Kynareth, or an avatar of hers, the ritual called her the Dovahsestum or Dragon of the South, whatever that meant, and you could demand a favour from her... for a price. Elisif had Dragonbane on hand to offer up – she didn't think Meridia would approve of her sacrificing Dawnbreaker to Kynareth. She just hoped it was enough.

Elisif lifted the sword and recited the incantation, before pouring out the blood on the ground and Keirine's magic poured in. A portal opened – sort of. It was there anyway, a gate into Aetherius, ready for the goddess to walk through.

“Kyne, Kynareth, Lady of the Skies, Protector of the People, Dragon of the South, Widow of Shor, She Who Brings The Winds of Change, bring the winds to me! Hear my call, answer my prayer, give me your favour, and come to me!” Elisif deepened the wound on her wrist and let more drops of blood fall on the portal... and something sucked the drops in. Nothing... and then it began to open.

“It's working!” Eola called. Elisif's hand went to Dawnbreaker's hilt and she backed away, because not only was it opening, there was a figure silhouetted on the other side. A woman... with horns?

She didn't have a chance to look. A silent explosion of light knocked her back, and Elisif only just managed to keep her footing. No one else had said a word though, which was odd. Elisif looked up to see everyone else frozen in time, her guards reaching for weapons or staggering to their feet, Keirine's claws outstretched, the illusions gone, Lydia unmoving on the floor, both Volkihars frozen in place with shock on Serana's face and fury on Valerica's, and Eola lying back on the floor, half sitting up and staring at the portal in horror.

This was not good. Not good at all. Especially when a shadow fell over Elisif and a woman's voice, old and mocking, rang out, sounding rather like Keirine's.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”

Elisif slowly looked up to see a woman all right, an old one, with hair styled like a dragon's horns, red leather gear a little like a Volkihar vampire's, a sly smile on her face and golden eyes that bore right through Elisif. 

Oh gods. An avatar of Kynareth, and she'd just stepped over the binding circle like it was nothing. 

“Kyne,” Elisif managed to say, scrabbling to her feet and reaching for Dragonbane. “Are you Kyne? Don't come any closer!”

'Kyne' just rolled her eyes. “Honestly, child, if I was going to kill you, you'd be dead. Do put that thing away. Now then. Do my senses deceive me or am I in the North?”

“You're in Skyrim,” Elisif said, wondering what on Nirn was going on. “This is pretty far north. You're in your temple in Whiterun – that's if you are actually Kynareth.”

“Kynareth?” the woman laughed. “Well, some call me that. Others call me other names. Flemeth. Asha'bellanar. An old hag who talks too much, ha!”

Elisif didn't disagree there, but she did lower her blade.

“I summoned you,” she said warily. “The ritual said you'd do a favour... for a price.”

Kynareth-Flemeth-Asha'bellanar grinned at that. “It has been known, child. I've helped an awful lot of people, set many things in motion... but are you willing to pay the price? Let's hear what you want first. Can't be wealth or power, you clearly have those already.”

And neither could save Madanach. Elisif thought of her husband crying her name and sobbing as she'd left him behind, of the coughs that just seemed to get worse every winter, and of Maia whispering if her daddy was going to die, not to mention the other children Elisif had desperately wanted but was now unlikely to ever have.

“My husband,” Elisif said quietly. “Madanach of the Reach. He's not well. His lungs... and this drug called Skooma... his lungs are rotting from breathing mine dust for twenty years and the Skooma ruined his mind. I've tried everything but there's no cure. We have a little girl, she's five years old, she needs her father but half the time he's not there! Please help – if you can heal him, this sword is yours.” Elisif held out Dragonbane, blade of Reman Cyrodiil, valuable indeed... and Kyne-Flemeth actually recoiled from it.

“Keep the blade,” she snapped. “It's of more use to you. No, my price is not your sword, but you. I know what you are, you have dragon blood in you. You're the Dragon of the North. I have a use for you. Another land, another people, they're about to be in a lot of trouble. You've dealt with trouble before, haven't you. Deal with this and I'll heal your husband.”

Elisif's eyes widened. This wasn't expected at all. She'd hoped the sword would be enough – but she should have realised this wouldn't be so easy. But if she really could heal Madanach...

“All right,” Elisif whispered. “I'll do it. If you heal Madanach for me.”

“I will,” Kyne promised, satisfied smile on her face. “Now, first a couple of spells – one for disease immunity and another purging anything infectious out of you... and this one will teach you the language...”

Elisif cried out as the spells hit, and suddenly a whole lexicon of words appeared in her head, foreign, different, utterly unlike Tamrielic, but she knew them all. She knew a whole second language, how had that happened??

“And now you need to leave,” Kyne continued, banishing spell raised. “If I'm right, you should get there just in time.”

The spell hit and Elisif shrieked as the world around her vanished, falling away as the void sucked her in. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Back in Understone Keep, and Elisif had been gone nearly a whole day now. Aventus could always tell by his father's moods. Elisif leaving him behind always shattered him mentally. He'd been quiet and withdrawn, occasionally snapping at both his servants, his bodyguard Borkul and even Aventus himself, but more often just staring into space as if stricken. Aventus hated watching him like this, but damned if he was abandoning his heartbroken, lonely father.

“You don't need to stay,” Madanach said quietly, and Aventus started up, wondering if Madanach could read his mind.

“I don't mind,” Aventus said quickly, and Madanach snorted bitterly.

“Yeah, you do. Why would a healthy boy want to sit in here with an old wreck like me?” Madanach said, his voice soft and barely audible despite the room's empty silence. “You should be outside, chasing girls... or boys... or both... or letting them chase you... or something! I don't mind sitting alone for a bit.”

 _I mind._ Madanach wasn't safe to leave alone for long any more, he'd forget he could barely walk and fall over, or try spells he barely remembered how to cast, or wake suddenly and start crying out because this wasn't a camp, where was he, had the Nords got him?

Aventus was not for a moment going to pretend it was easy, but Madanach had rescued him from despair and hardship, gone to find him when no one else would, answered the Black Sacrament despite not actually being a Dark Brotherhood assassin, it later transpired. But King of the Forsworn wasn't a bad substitute.

And now the King of the Forsworn was a shadow of his former self, Kaie was Queen in all but name, and Aventus was slowly losing his father. It was too soon. It was only six years since the adoption. It wasn't fair. But Aventus wasn't leaving him.

“I could take you outside for a bit,” Aventus said softly. “We got that portal to the balcony now. Want to sit in the sun for a few hours?”

A wistful little smile on Madanach's face. “Wouldn't mind that. Seems like... seems like I've not been out in a while. Say, is Elisif joining us? I like her!”

“Not today,” Aventus had to tell him and cringed as he saw Madanach's face fall. “But she'll be back soon!”

“I miss her,” Madanach whispered, and then he just scowled. “Eh. Don't bother, bion. Don't like the sun anyway. Hurts my eyes.”

Aventus nodded, quietly resigning himself to another day of sitting quietly with his father, maybe reading to him or just watching while he napped. Madanach slept a lot lately. Aventus didn't know if he should be worried or not. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Madanach seemed on the verge of nodding off when it happened. Suddenly the room was full of light as a portal suddenly opened in front of them both. Aventus leapt to his feet, grabbing his dagger in one hand, casting Stoneflesh with the other, and even Madanach sat up, startled.

For the first time in years, something like sanity flashed into the Reach-King's eyes.

“Bion, run, get Kaie, now!” Madanach snapped, mage armour flashing into his left hand and fire into his right and Aventus realised maybe his father wasn't quite as far gone as they'd all thought.

“I'm not leaving!” Aventus cried, just as she stepped through. White-hair swept back into two horns, red leather despite looking like an old woman, strange gold eyes rather like Serana's, except this was no vampire, and a smile like Keirine's... and Aventus knew damn well this was a witch even Keirine might fear.

“Put the knife down, boy, I'm not here for you,” she said calmly, hand reaching for Madanach.

“Get away from him!” Aventus tried to cry but to no avail. The room had gone still, even the fire in the hearth still and he couldn't move, couldn't do anything as his father stared at the witch, fury in his eyes... and she cast.

Golden light struck his chest, and Madanach cried out as her magic lifted him from his chair, the blanket falling from legs that were little more than skin and bone these days, Madanach's entire body looking so horribly fragile and frail and Aventus wanted to scream at her to let him go... but if he fell from that height, he'd die, surely?

She didn't let him fall. Golden fire poured from her fingers like a torrent, pouring into his chest and Madanach was screaming, clearly in agony as the light grew brighter, enveloping him until he was just a silhouette, suspended in midair, and this was killing him, it must be, except the screaming didn't stop, it just kept going on... but it did change slowly, from incoherent wails to terrified pleading... and then shifting into utter profanity as Madanach's screams turned into enraged howls promising Oblivion itself when he got his hands on her.

“Oh, that's good!” the witch laughed. “Go on, Madanach. You tell me what you're going to do. Tell me who you are!”

“I'm King of the Reach, you fucking daedra-bitch, I will rip you open and feed your carcass to Namira!” Madanach roared. “I'll mount your head on my damn wall as a trophy if you don't let me go right no- aarrgghhh!!”

“Lungs working fine, muscles restored, joints seem good,” the witch observed. “One last thing, who's your wife? That really pretty woman you married?”

“YOU LEAVE MY ELISIF OUT OF THIS, OR I SWEAR I WILL TURN THE BLOOD IN YOUR VEINS INTO POISON!” Madanach raged, starting to struggle, and slowly the magic was fading, Madanach becoming visible again, and he was staring viciously back at the witch, looking almost like his old self, in fact he looked visibly less fragile. There was even magic at his fingers, and he seemed to be sucking her power into himself somehow.

“You're fighting back!” the witch breathed, delighted. “Oh now, that's magnificent. And you remember who your wife is, don't you? You remember it all! You're the Reach-King, aren't you? Father of six living children and two dead ones.”

“You leave my kids out of this,” Madanach whispered. “I swear you're a dead woman.”

The witch had the nerve to smile. “Not yet. Even at your full strength, you wouldn't be able to kill me.” Then she released her magic and let him fall, and Madanach fell to the ground, yelping as he crashed into stone... but reflexes saved him and he landed on all fours, wincing.

“But you are back at full strength,” the witch said softly. “Do not waste it, Madanach. Few get a second chance. Your wife's paid a heavy price to heal you. Don't fritter it away.” 

Madanach was kneeling on the floor, gasping for breath and shaking, trying to get up but failing. The witch just smiled and turned away, stepping through the portal... and then she was gone and Aventus was free.

“Da!” Aventus cried, racing to his side and kneeling by him. “Gods, Da, are you all right? What happened?”

“Dunno,” Madanach gasped, trying to get up and then collapsing in Aventus's arms, shaking all over and clearly exhausted. “'Ventus, get... get Keirine... need to know... Elisif...” Madanach collapsed again, eyes fluttering closed and Aventus cried out, trying to shake him awake... but by then the door had smashed open and Uraccen, Kaie's steward ever since it became clear Kaie was going to need to take over the Mournful Throne from her ailing father, was striding in, Borkul at his back, Kaie behind him with several ReachGuard and a crash team from the clinic, all taking his father off him and hauling him to bed to perform tests.

“What happened, are you all right?” Uraccen said softly, putting an arm round him. “We heard screaming – who was he shouting at?”

“There was a woman,” Aventus whispered. “A – a witch, not a hag or anything, looked human but I don't know. She cast a spell on him... I don't know what it did! Is he – is he all right?”

Uraccen looked up to where healers were surrounding him, doing tests, magic flaring everywhere.

“Kaie? What do we have? Are you still a Brenyeen?”

Kaie was consulting with the lead healer, a dark-skinned Reachwoman with pointed ears called Briala, and looked disbelieving.

“What? How is that possible?? Restoration magic doesn't work like that!”

“Well, something did!” Healer Briala was saying. “We need to do more tests but initial signs are that his heartrate's normal – excellent for a man his age. And his breathing's fine.”

“His breathing's not been fine for over ten years!” Kaie cried. “What's wrong with him??”

Briala just shrugged. “That's just it, Brenyeen. Nothing seems wrong with him. He looks for all intents and purposes like a healthy adult male who's fast asleep. Oh, and it took four of us to get him to the bed, and it was an effort. Normally two can lift him easily. He's somehow gained weight in the last hour. A lot of weight and it's all muscle, look at him!”

Kaie went to look and Aventus followed, curious now. The witch had hurt him but she'd also said he had a second chance. Aventus peered at his father, now half-naked, lying on his bed, eyes closed and chest slowly rising and falling. No sign he'd ever had trouble breathing. Many of the liver spots on his skin, gone. Wrinkles smoothed out. Muscles – not massive ones like Borkul or Argis or Farkas, but definitely there. Madanach the King in Rags looked healthier than Aventus had ever seen him, and they all knew it.

“He looks better than he's done in years,” Uraccen breathed, stunned. “Gods above, did that ritual of Keirine's actually work? Was that Kynareth herself?”

“I don't know, but I'm taking no chances,” Kaie said firmly. “Healers, do all the tests you can without waking him, then let him sleep. I want him under observation at all times until he wakes up. Then... then we talk to him, see what he remembers.”

“He doesn't remember much these days,” Borkul warned. “You'll be lucky he doesn't think you're Amaleen.”

Pain flickering across Kaie's face but the acting Reach-Queen was not one to show her grief openly.

“This morning he was a feeble old man who coughed constantly and who had twigs for legs due to barely being able to walk,” Kaie said softly. “The man in that bed's got muscle tone. His body got better. I think we might find his mind's come back as well.” She turned to Aventus, arm round him as a curious smile rather like her father's crossed her face. “Come on, gwador. I need to ask you a few questions.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Elisif opened her eyes. There'd been light, sound, a sensation of falling and the wind whipping past her ears and screaming... that might have been her actually. She had no idea how long that had been going on for, but she had a feeling she'd been travelling a while. Then she'd come to an abrupt stop, falling out of a portal and hovering just above the floor of a stone corridor. And then the magic had been gone and she'd crashed to the floor, Blades armour clanking with the impact.

It was a good thing she was trained how to let her armour take the impact, really. She was still bruised though. But not harmed and able to walk, and so she slowly hauled herself to her feet, adjusted the Jagged Crown, checked that Dragonbane and Dawnbreaker were still there and the Shield of Solitude on her back. Yep, all present and correct. Wedding ring on left hand, amulet of Kynareth round her neck (ha ha, fucking ha, Kyne was NOT in her good books at the moment), Elisif was good to go.

But go where, that was the problem. She had no idea where she was. A corridor in some vast stone building and she had a feeling this might be underground. Maybe? But she was here to help and so she supposed she'd better find someone. There must be some sort of crisis going on, right? Except everything seemed very very quiet. Too quiet. 

Maybe she should try to find the exit, find out where she was. She was sure she'd know the trouble she was meant to sort out when she saw it.

It was at that point the screaming started. It sounded like a woman, an older one at that.

It was good enough for Elisif. Drawing Dragonbane and readying her shield, she ran in the direction of the screams. Someone needed her help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Meanwhile back in Whiterun, the paralytic spell had lifted as soon as the portal had closed – with no sign of Elisif or the mysterious woman who may or may not have actually been Kyne.

“What… just happened?” Eola whispered, absolutely certain that was not an intended consequence of the ritual. “Who _was_ that? I don't think it was Kynareth!” 

“I don't know but she just took Elisif,” Serana gasped as she helped Eola up. “I think we may be in trouble.”

Trouble was the word. Elisif's guards weren't any ordinary guards, they were the highly trained Penitus Oculatus charged with guarding the heir to an Empire, and they were not best pleased. Especially as Keirine's illusions had left her revealed as the Hagraven she was.

“Stand down, witch!” the captain was raging at her. “What have you done with the High Queen??”

“I?” Keirine hissed. “I did nothing. The ritual was supposed to contain the one it summoned! That it has gone wrong is to be regretted but the situation is not unresolvable.”

“You'll regret it all right!” the captain roared, raising his sword to strike Keirine down, and it was only the actions of Elisif's housecarl Lydia that saved her, as Lydia shoved Keirine aside and took the blow meant to fell a Matriarch.

Lydia's armour saved her from immediate death, but the blow went deep, her armour only slowing it down and blood went everywhere.

“No!” Serana cried, magic flaring in her hands, and Eola was quite prepared to do some killing of her own… and then magic flared through the temple and all the Oculatus dropped their weapons, vacant stares in their eyes. But the witches were doing just fine, and Keirine promptly dropped to Lydia's side, healing magic flaring. Serana and Eola turned round to see who'd cast that spell, and Serana winced to see Valerica shaking her hands and looking far too smug for anyone's good.

“A trick of vampire blood,” Valerica explained. “And daughter, I am surprised it did not occur to you to use it. Consider it next time rather than panicking.”

“Yes Mother,” Serana said through gritted teeth. “So now what? We can't stay here and that spell won't last.”

“No,” Valerica said firmly. “Keirine, can you manage a portal?”

Keirine looked up, surveyed the wrecked temple and shook her head.

“I used most of my magicka and the necessary materials in the ritual. I can get myself to safety but not you three. My advice? Flee the city immediately.”

“Then they'll think we did it!” Serana cried. “That won't help!”

Eola stared down at Lydia, who was conscious – just about – but in pain.

“Is she going to be all right?” Eola whispered. She'd always liked Lydia. The housecarl had just taken everything in her stride, from a Dragonborn five year old to a vampire court mage and a dragon on top of the palace, and now she'd just saved the life of a known Hagraven.

“Yes, but she'll need rest and recovery and for that priestess of Kynareth to look at her,” Keirine said, getting up. “She's the Jarl's niece, is she not? Then she will be doubtless cared for. There's nothing more I can do now, not without my equipment and assistants. Lydia, girl, tell your uncle what really happened and I promise you a favour in the Reach, whatever you like.”

“Matriarch,” Lydia whispered, trying to salute and giving up. Then came hammering on the door, with the guards of Whiterun demanding for them to open up in the name of the Jarl.

“Keirine, go, get out of here,” Valerica said quickly. “I can use a local illusion shield to hide the rest of us, get us out of the city. We can meet you back in the Reach.”

Much as Eola hated asking the Mournful Throne for favours, especially since her father's illness, even she could admit it was their only hope for safety from the Oculatus.

“There's a secret exit from Whiterun in Jorrvaskr, if you can get us there,” Eola sighed. “This will not be popular, but Cicero can use Auriel's Bow so you can travel. If we can get to Rorikstead and the Reachman settlement nearby, there's a tunnel there that can get us into the Reach.”

“Good plan, I approve,” Keirine nodded. “Very well, I'll get back to Hag's End and start researching ways to find Elisif. In particular, I need to examine that grimoire the ritual was in. I'm starting to have doubts about the accuracy of the translation. Alas the translator left my coven some years ago – but no matter. Niece? Take care.”

“You too,” Eola whispered as Keirine changed into a raven and flew out through a gap in the roof. Then it was Valerica's turn to take charge.

“Are we ready?” Valerica said, holding out her hands. Eola took one arm, Serana the other and Valerica cast the spell as Balgruuf's guards kicked the door in, staring at stupefied Oculatus men and a downed housecarl in the midst of a temple covered in goat's blood and half-melted candles, and collectively deciding they all deserved a pay rise. Leaving them to it, Eola followed the vampires out. This particular mess was far far beyond Eola alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will mainly focus on the mess left behind as Skyrim collectively loses it a bit - this is the problem with getting rid of the High Queen, people notice she's gone! Don't worry. No one dies.
> 
> Brenyeen = princess  
> Gwador = brother


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the ritual will take all the Jarl's patience to sort out, what with angry Penitus Oculatus, angry Companions, and some fool in a jester hat who just put the sun out. But the real consequences are being felt in Markarth, where the Reach-King rises unaided from his bed for the first time in years... and finds the world changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long one this, as it's got to cover the aftermath of the ritual... and Madanach's back! Although after seeing the fallout for all this, he'll start to wish he was still ill. But Maia's pleased to see him. I do like Maia, she's such a sweetie.

Jarl Balgruuf had known in his heart this was a bad idea, from the day Elisif had written to tell him Matriarch Keirine had found this summoning ritual in an old grimoire and she wanted to borrow the Temple of Kynareth to try it. He'd only said yes because Elisif had come in person to ask and her genuine grief and hope had persuaded him. And now look at his city. The Temple a mess – fixable, but a mess. Elisif, gone. The key magical personnel, likewise fled. Elisif's Oculatus guards screaming blue murder about witches of the Reach abducting the Imperial Heir and how they'd see the province levelled for this. The ReachGuard troops left languishing in Jorrvaskr during the ritual up in arms and seeming to think the Oculatus had gone for their Matriarch. And then some idiot in a jester's outfit had shot the sun with Auriel's Bow and unnatural darkness had descended. While Balgruuf knew from bitter experience that this was temporary, it had not helped anyone's mood. Which is why here he was, on the steps of Jorrvaskr, trying to stop the Oculatus storming the mead hall to drag Eola and the Volkihars out by force. While Balgruuf wasn't so bothered what happened to the two vampires, Reach-Princess Eola was also Harbinger of Jorrvaskr, ridiculously popular among Nords due to tireless championing of the downtrodden and wretched, and Imperial forces storming a bastion of Nordic national identity to arrest a popular Harbinger without proof was just asking for trouble. Elisif was loved by all and even Nords who bore lasting grudges against all things Imperial put up with it for love of her. With her gone… Balgruuf didn't know where his High Queen was, but damned if he was letting her kingdom fall apart in her absence. Not on his watch.

That and the damn Oculatus had cut down his own niece. She'd be dead if not for Matriarch Keirine healing her before fleeing. Owing a life-debt to a Hag of the Reach. Balgruuf disliked that intensely, but he was grateful for Lydia's life if nothing else, and he knew who was responsible for hurting her needlessly.

“You'll let us in this instant!” the Oculatus captain was shouting. Some young Imperial who thought the uniform made him immortal from the look of it. Shame Elisif hadn't brought Maro. He at least was possessed of some common sense. “Or by Stendarr I will have you all arrested for obstructing Imperial justice!”

Athis seemed to be the one doing the talking, and he seemed utterly unbothered by Imperial officialdom.

“I'm a citizen of Morrowind, sera,” Athis said, shrugging. “You can arrest me if you want but be warned, there will be diplomatic ramifications back home. They'll want me back.”

“And we are Nords,” Vilkas snapped, glaring at the man with the considerable ferocity Balgruuf knew the best two-handed fighter in Skyrim was capable of. Sure, Vilkas had calmed down considerably in recent years, the fieriness of youth abating (although it had been very sudden, it seemed to him), but Balgruuf still wouldn't cross him. “And in Skyrim, you need a warrant from the Jarl to enter an innocent citizen's house.”

“You're harbouring the ones responsible for abducting the Imperial Heir!” the man roared. “Let us in immediately!”

“All right, that's enough!” Balgruuf shouted, striding up and physically intervening before someone got stabbed. Cicero was right there, daggers at his belt, and even though his twin girls were there, peeping out of the door with wide eyes, Balgruuf had a feeling that would not stop him. Still, the Jarl's presence seemed to make Cicero perk up.

“Hello Jarl Balgruuf!” Cicero chirped, and despite the surprising revelation he was Kodlak Whitemane's half-Imperial illegitimate son, Balgruuf still couldn't see any resemblance whatsoever. No matter. Cicero respected him as Jarl, that was what mattered.

“Cicero, why did you put out the sun, and where is Eola now,” Balgruuf sighed. Cicero stared back, all wide-eyed innocence.

“Oh but sir, it was _necessary!_ ” Cicero said, wounded. “Cicero cannot have nice Serana and her mother bothered by the sunlight while they flee across country from the nasty Oculatus! And Eola is not here. She has gone back to the Reach. She feared for her safety here. So she kissed her children goodbye and left swiftly! You will not find her here. And she did not do it, so there.”

“Mama is innocent!” little Amalia shouted from the door to Jorrvaskr.

“Mama is nice and helps people!” Stelmaria added, glaring at the Oculatus. “You can't be mean to her!”

“Yes!” Cicero said, nodding fervently before realising his three and a half year olds were not supposed to be there. “Wait! Cicero told you two to stay inside!”

Identical pouts as the two of them realised they were in trouble and beamed hopefully at their fathers. Alas Cicero was unmoved and Athis even more so.

“Inside. Now,” Athis said firmly, and both girls pouted but did as asked, but not before Amalia shouted “Mama is innocent!” one last time before darting inside with her sister. Balgruuf shook his head.

“One hundred septim bounty for putting out the sun – yes, I know you had cause, but we all banned it for a REASON, Cicero,” Balgruuf sighed. “You just be glad it's temporary and relatively local.”

Cicero pouted but didn't complain, mainly because he was still wearing the bow on his back with several bloodstained elven arrows and was clearly completely guilty.

“Is that all??” the Oculatus captain demanded. “The Imperial Heir is missing and you're letting him go with a fine??”

“Quiet!” Balgruuf snapped. “I am trying to find out exactly what happened before arresting anyone, something you perhaps should have tried BEFORE attacking my niece!”

And then said niece staggered upstairs, still clutching her arm and a little delirious from all the potions, heedless of her father shouting after her to get back here, she was injured, dammit!

“Sir! Jarl Balgruuf!” Lydia gasped, staggering against her uncle and clinging on to him before she collapsed. “Sir, it wasn't them. Wasn't… wasn't the Reachfolk. Or the Volkihars. We thought it would be a vision, but… but it wasn't, Kyne herself turned up and took her! She said… she said if Elisif went with her, she'd heal Madanach. So… Elisif did.”

Interesting indeed. Lydia was Elisif's own housecarl, she'd want justice against whoever took the High Queen. She might be injured but she meant what she said, that was clear.

“I see. Thank you, Lydia. Get some rest, you've earned it,” Balgruuf said gently, and by this point Danica had caught up with her and was telling her off as she helped Lydia away.

“Well now,” Balgruuf said, folding his arms and fixing the hapless Oculatus captain with his fiercest glare. “Seems to me like Elisif's voluntarily absconded to save her husband. Which might be somewhat irresponsible when she has a country to run, but it's not out of character either. So. With no case to answer against the Reach and Elisif's court mage who, by the way, expressed scepticism over whether this would do anything when I spoke to her this morning but apparently didn't want to upset Elisif, I'm declaring the whole thing an accident. Disappearance by misadventure if you will.”

“That won't bring her back!” the Oculatus captain snapped and Balgruuf admitted this was true. 

“Then we'll find her and do that,” Balgruuf said firmly. “I'm confident Serana and Matriarch Keirine can work something out – IF they're left to their research and not unlawfully harassed by Imperial forces?”

“Commander Maro will be hearing about this,” the Oculatus warned, before turning on his heel and leaving, his troops following him, and while Balgruuf was relieved to have averted a massacre, he had a feeling none of them had heard the last of this.

Of course then everyone was distracted by a little voice calling from inside Jorrvaskr.

“Told you Mama was innocent!”

Athis turned to the door, eyes glacial, while Cicero sighed and shrugged.

“Technically, she is inside, brother,” Cicero said. Athis just shook his head and wrenched the door open to find two cute red-haired pointy-eared twins were beaming up at him.

“Kids. What have I told you about listening at doors when grown-ups are talking?” Athis sighed. Both twins looked a bit confused.

“You haven't told us anything about that, Daddy,” Stelmaria said, looking puzzled.

“Technically, I do not think we have ever told them that was not allowed,” Cicero admitted, looking a little bit embarrassed. Athis growled and turned back to the kids.

“You're not supposed to listen in on private conversations. Don't do it again. Now go to your room and start packing. We're going to Markarth. Now.”

Both twins perked up at that.

“Are we going to see Auntie Kaie?” Amalia squealed. “I like Auntie Kaie! And Auntie Borgakh told me she'd teach me how to fight when I was bigger! I'm bigger now, can I learn?”

Athis closed his eyes, close to losing his patience, and Cicero decided he needed to organise the kids personally.

“Come on children, let us start packing!” Cicero cooed. “You cannot learn anything from Auntie Borgakh if you are not in Markarth, and you cannot go to Markarth if you are not properly packed – Amalia, you are not even wearing shoes, come on, let us get you dressed properly.”

It was one of the great mysteries of life that someone as irresponsible as Cicero was known to be had turned out to be excellent with his children and very capable of gently persuading them to behave or help or generally do what they were told, and Athis for one was grateful for that. Cicero's adult life had not been easy, but apparently his blood mother had loved him and given him a loving childhood, which was more than some Companions had had. So Athis watched Cicero chivvy the kids off to pack, and turned back to the Jarl.

“Thank you, muthsera,” Athis said, bowing. “I know Eola would never hurt Elisif, but it seems her guards haven't worked that out yet.”

“Eh, don't thank me, they get rough with my niece, they can't expect me to help them,” Balgruuf snorted. “All the same, you'd better get those kids of yours to the Reach. Might be safer. Also Kaie needs to know. You take word to her, I'll write to Argis. And the Reach has got to help find her. We need our High Queen, Athis.”

Athis didn't need telling that. And so he went to help Cicero sort out the kids, quietly dreading telling all this to Kaie, even if Elisif had flung herself into the Void to heal Kaie's beloved father. 

And then it occurred to him that what if the ritual had worked? What if Madanach was even now healed and back to his old self? What if Athis found himself explaining things not to Kaie but to a reborn Reach-King?

Madanach's reaction on learning Elisif had disappeared for his sake would be very different to Kaie's, and it helped that for once, it wasn't Cicero's fault. Athis wouldn't get his hopes up, of course. But it was definitely something to think about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Madanach opened his eyes, blinking in the darkness. Where in the Void... was this his room at the Keep? It felt like it. The sheets felt like his, he could hear the water from the stream... but something felt off. It felt like he'd been asleep a long time. What day was it? What time was it? More importantly, _where was his wife?_ Not in the bed, that was certain.

Definitely not right. Elisif rarely got up in the middle of the night and didn't usually leave the room if she did. So where was she? She should be here, right? Why couldn't he sense where she was, what she was feeling? She felt like she was a long way away... and he had the feeling he'd not seen her for a long time. Which was ridiculous... but why were his recent memories so fuzzy?

Madanach sat up and cast a magelight, not liking this at all, and as stark white light flooded the room, one of the two heavily armoured figures by the fire kicked the other awake and Madanach was faced with two Orc warriors, brother and sister, both staring at him in amazement. Beast and Steel Heart, chosen to serve the Reach for their ferocity and strength, his loyal bodyguard Borkul, and Borkul's younger sister Borgakh, bought off her tribe so Borkul could have his sister back, and now Kaie's wife and bodyguard. Madanach could just about see Borkul possibly being stationed in his bedroom but for _Borgakh_ to be in here?

“Hey. Boss,” Borkul was saying, voice a lot gentler than Madanach was used to. “How you feeling? You gave us all a scare.”

“You're going to be getting another in a second, Borkul,” Madanach growled. “What the actual fuck are you two doing in here?”

“Hey!” Borkul snapped. “Don't swear in front of my sister!”

“Leave it, brother,” Borgakh shrugged. “I've heard swearing before. Including from him on more than one occasion. Madanach. You're up. That's good. Damn sight more than we're used to lately. You're stronger than I thought.”

“Oh that's good. Very good. I'm ecstatic,” Madanach snapped. “Listen, Borgakh, I am and remain very fond of you, you know that, but among humans, unless you're married to them, it's generally considered customary to _not wander into their bedroom while they're sleeping!_ ”

“Hey, you paid my father bride-price, technically I'm your forgewife,” Borgakh replied, utterly unbothered and her expression didn't change even as Madanach got up, blankets falling away to reveal the naked form the healers had left him with. Indeed, it was Borkul who seemed the most shocked, placing a hand over an outraged Borgakh's eyes.

“Boss, you can't expose yourself in front of my sister!” Borkul gasped, even as Borgakh threatened to break every bone in his hand if he didn't move it right now.

“She is freely and voluntarily in my bedroom without an invitation, she can take me as she finds me,” Madanach shrugged, casually gathering a flannel, soap, towel, and the potion that made bubbles. “Now, if you'll both excuse me, I am going to have a bath.”

Madanach flexed his fingers, suddenly feeling the urge to cast and cast and cast, his magicka chafing at the bit, as if he'd not used his magic in a long time. Well, he didn't have any enemies to slaughter right now, but he could still put it to use for more peaceful purposes. And so he cast a few brief lightning sparks to light a few candles, magelight by the pool itself and then a wall of fire and a fire cloak to warm the water. 

“Then,” he announced, one hand testing the water temperature, “I am getting dressed. Then I want breakfast. A large breakfast. With meat. Lots of meat. And some eggs. They know how I like them – fuck it, just tell them the usual. Then you can go find Kaie and explain to her just why you're hanging out in her father's bedroom. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to know her wife couldn't wait to get an eyeful of her elderly father.”

The two Orcs hadn't stopped staring at him throughout all this, looking absolutely amazed, and yes, the magic had required a certain level of skill and finesse, but it surely wasn't that unusual, and they'd both lived among the Reachmen for years now, surely they were used to this sort of thing. But they both looked as impressed as two Orcs fresh off the strongholds.

“You're all right,” Borkul whispered. “I mean, you're using magic and everything, you remember!”

“Yes Borkul, I have not in fact forgotten how to use the magic I've been using all my life,” Madanach sighed, deciding the water was warm enough and sliding into the pool, closing his eyes as warmth and wetness closed over him. This was more like it. Warm, soon to be clean, nice and relaxed – it really did seem like it had been a while since he'd done this. Vague memories flitted across his mind of servants sitting him in front of the fire to clean him and Aventus looking on, or Sofie, occasionally snapping at the servants to be a bit gentler, he was still king, and feeling angry, frightened, something wrong... no, he couldn't remember, not properly. But definitely the sense of someone having had to clean him because he couldn't do it himself – had he been ill??

That would explain why someone not his wife was watching him... and why Borkul had been so surprised at the magic use.

“Borkul?” Madanach called, suddenly feeling on edge. “What time is it?” 

It felt early. His room was fairly well insulated soundwise, but even so, he was usually aware of activity in the rest of the Keep.

“About 3am. You've been asleep for fifteen hours,” Borkul told him. “After what happened, I'm not surprised you needed it. That was some pretty heavy Restoration magic in use. Healers said they'd never seen its like before.”

Restoration... and yet Madanach could feel it in his bones, the aftermath of healing magic, the strange combination of achy and buzzed that signified extra magical energy doing its work and muscles and flesh pulled in directions they weren't supposed to go in.

He had been ill, hadn't he?

“Was I ill?” Madanach said softly. “I mean, really ill. Not just the coughing but really bad?”

Borkul hesitated, and it was his sister who answered.

“Yeah,” Borgakh told him. “Your lungs were rotting from all the mine dust, the Skooma had addled your wits, and honestly just be glad you're not an Orc, we'd have had to kill you if you were. As it is, Kaie's been looking after the Reach. She's good at it. Strong. Could put any Orc chieftain on his ass in seconds.”

“I keep telling her to challenge old Larak, but she won't,” Borkul sighed. “Bad form to beat up her father-in-law, apparently. Eh. Well, anyway, we had the place under Regency, and Kaie's acting Reach-Queen. Might change that now you're well. But yeah, you were ill. For a long time. Got so bad, Elisif went to do a ritual to persuade Kynareth to intervene. Guess it worked. Ain't seen you get up and start doing your morning rituals on your own in a long time.”

Ritual?? Elisif, off doing strange arcane rituals to heal him? _Regency??_ He'd only signed that act in because Nepos had pushed him to make some sort of provision for the kingship in case of incapacity, and it had only been Borkul and Borgakh both separately commenting that among Orcs, chiefs never got to a ripe old age, a son would always overthrow them first, that had caused him to think yes, perhaps this might be a better way. He didn't fancy dying at Kaie or Eola's hands. So he'd enacted legislation to allow a council of the ruler's heir, spouse, steward, First Matriarch and Field Marshal of the ReachGuard to govern the Reach if the ruler was unable... if all five were unanimous, and he knew Elisif wouldn't just let Nepos, Kaie and Keirine overthrow him. Things must have been bad if Elisif had consented. Elisif, gods, Elisif, he barely remembered her just recently. All his firm memories felt old... but he remembered the emotions and he somehow knew it was true. Light, love and fiery warmth wrapped round him, and everything would be all right even when it wasn't, and then it would be gone and he'd grieve and keep grieving until he forgot there was anything to grieve. Gods help him.

“How long,” he managed to say. “Damn it, what year is it?”

“208. Second Seed,” Borkul said quietly. “Guess you don't remember much, huh.”

Much? He barely remembered a damn thing. Nothing at all since Kaie's wedding, and even that was hazy. And then there was one memory that hit him where it hurt. Being told Nepos had died in his sleep and not believing, refusing to believe, insisting Nepos was alive, he couldn't be dead, shoving at the cold corpse of his oldest friend and eventually breaking down in tears, and that had been it. The mind-fog had already been creeping in, but that had been the point he'd sunk into misery and let it claim him. He didn't remember much since. And it had been nearly three years. Three years? Good gods, Aventus must be nearly eighteen by now, and Sofie fourteen, and Lucia sixteen, and Eola, gods Eola's kids, they'd been toddlers when he last saw them, they must be nearly four now! Able to walk and talk and maybe doing magic and...

Maia. By all that was holy, _Maia_.

She'd been two years old. Long red-blonde curls, silver eyes like his, big for a Reach-child but apparently fine for a Nord, already starting to show signs of magical talent, and he'd adored her. 

She'd be five years old and she'd have spent the last three years or so watching her father shrivelling in front of her.

“Borkul,” Madanach whispered, feeling the blood drain from his face. “Where's Maia?”

“In bed, where else,” Borkul growled. “Except not her own bed, that's why Borgakh's in here and not with her wife.”

“Sofie and Maia are in with Kaie tonight,” Borgakh added by way of explanation. “They didn't want to be alone and Kaie didn't want to leave them alone, especially Maia. She was worried about you. They all were. We had to peel Maia off you – she was heartbroken when you wouldn't wake up.”

Madanach could feel a lump in his throat as he realised the poor thing must be terrified. Three years of an unresponsive father who barely knew her and then even that looked like it might be gone. She must be heartbroken.

More than anything, Madanach suddenly wanted his little girl in his arms so he could tell her it was going to be all right, and he was sorry, so sorry. But it was the middle of the night and she'd be better off allowed to sleep for a few more hours.

“I think I want to be alone for a bit,” Madanach said quietly. “Could you...?”

“Yeah,” Borkul said, voice softening. “Come on, sis, let's get out of here. Don't think he needs us to help bathe him, not now he's better and all.”

Borgakh assented and headed out, nodding to Madanach as she left, and Borkul was on the point of leaving before glancing over his shoulder, grinning at Madanach.

“Hey, boss?”

“Yeah?” Madanach said, a little distracted, but gathering himself enough to pay attention to his bodyguard.

“Welcome back,” Borkul grinned, eyes gleaming savagely in the firelight. “We missed you. You let me know when you want some asses kicked.”

Madanach really didn't feel remotely close to feeling up to ordering mayhem just yet. Time would tell just where he stood, who his friends were, his enemies... right now he was under Regency anyway from the sound of it, and clawing his way back to the throne through his children didn't appeal. He had a feeling it was going to take more than just having his enemies' skulls cracked to take care of this problem. He wondered who the steward was if Nepos was gone.

He supposed he'd find out eventually. In the mean time, he was going to rest and recover. He had a feeling he'd need to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Even Madanach couldn't stay in the bath forever, and once he was clean and dry, time to get dressed. His wardrobe was swathed in preservation charms, fine clothes and mage robes wrapped in cloth cases to keep moths off. Because he'd not worn them for years. But they were here, still wearable, and Madanach needed something that said 'King'. No. Not King. Warrior. Battlemage. Someone capable of ripping you apart in a dozen different ways, reassembling and reanimating your corpse and then repeating the process. Something that said 'dangerous Forsworn warrior'.

He opened one piece of sacking, felt black leather and saw gold glinting in the darkness and knew he'd found it.

He'd had it commissioned not long after taking power but rarely worn it. Kaie had a set too – Eola had declined when he'd offered her some. But this was his – Forsworn gear but not your standard set. This was Forsworn gear crafted out of black leather and Vale cat fur lining, with gold trimming, including gold feathers, gold-plated buckles and chain links, even the bones were gold-plated. Taarie from Radiant Raiment had called it 'barbarian chic'. Her sister had been rather more forthright, tersely referring to it as the most expensive lapse in taste she'd ever seen. Madanach didn't care. He liked it and Elisif had _really_ liked it. And then he'd hardly ever worn it before...

Yes, well, he'd make up for it now. And so he got dressed in his beloved outfit that dripped with enchantments taken from both Keirine's knowledge and what remained of the robes that had come back from Solstheim after Elisif had had to go out there to put down a rival Dragonborn who'd learnt the utter folly of interfering with the High Queen of Skyrim and sending his agents to kill her in her own palace, in front of her then six month old baby girl. Enchantments that not only boosted and regenerated his magicka, they made him virtually immune to magical attacks, not to mention making him stealthier and making him that bit better at swinging a war axe into someone's skull, and which taken in total screamed to the world that he was not just a dangerous barbarian battlemage, but a rich and powerful one, and the world should take note. 

He brushed and rebraided his hair, shaved, reached for the circlet of gold and ruby that he was pleased to see was still on his dresser, and prepared to face the world. Madanach was back.

Understone Keep was quiet, but as always there were two guards on his door and once they'd have stood to attention as he walked past, Madanach would have nodded vaguely in their direction and kept walking.

They did not stand to attention. Or at least, they started to, and then they looked twice and stared at him... and Madanach stared defensively back, suddenly realising he'd forgotten how to sweep imposingly down the hall leaving lesser mortals in his wake. Or rather, he'd always done it on instinct... and now his instincts were failing him. Too many vague memories of pitying looks and fearful glances and any authority he might have had gone. The entire Keep must have seen him being the opposite of kingly.

“What?” he snapped at the younger of the two. “Aren't you supposed to be watching for intruders?”

She flinched back, real fear in her eyes, which she promptly lowered.

“Yes sir. I mean, sorry, sir. I mean... sir, is it really you?”

“We heard... I mean, we saw... you were ill, sir!” the other one, a young man with light brown skin and hair the colour of midnight whispered. “Are you all right?”

Madanach turned on him, glaring at him with all the cold annoyance he remembered coming naturally once, and the young man shrank away, probably wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

“Yes,” Madanach said curtly. “But that's not your concern. Your concern is making sure the master bedroom's not bothered by intruders. Think you can both manage that?”

“Sir.”

“Yes sir.”

Both stood to attention, but their eyes were following him, he could tell. Shaking his head, Madanach turned to leave, before he was stopped by the unmistakeable sound of both of them clapping their fists to their chests.

“All Hail the Reach-King!” both whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. Madanach paused, then smiled, realising all was by no means lost. He inclined his head in acknowledgement, before walking onwards, hoping Kaie still had the same room she used to.

The two Oculatus guards on the door would seem to indicate yes. Neither batted an eyelid to see him, but they did step forward to block the door and bar his way.

“No one gets in to see the Imperial Heir,” one snapped, glaring at him as if he was a distraction at best. “State your business or leave, Reachman.”

These two must be new. Had to be. Madanach's relationship with Elisif's guards had always been a bit awkward but he'd respected that they were just doing their job, and they'd respected his position as the official consort of the older Imperial Heir and father of the younger one.

Apparently that was no longer the case.

“You have no idea who I am, do you,” Madanach sighed.

“Should we?” the other one growled. “Imperial Heir's asleep and there's no reason for some strange man to be visiting her bedroom at five in the morning.”

“Good policy, I approve wholeheartedly,” Madanach was forced to admit. “But there is one tiny detail you've left out.” He stepped closer, narrowing his eyes and wreathing a little illusion magic around himself to make himself look a bit more intimidating. “I'm her father. You can let me in to see my daughters or, seeing as this is my keep, I could order the ReachGuard to have you removed.”

“Your keep?” the taller Oculatus, a Nord with blonde hair, a Cyrodiilic accent and all the attitude Madanach had come to expect from the Sky Children not his own kin, sneered at him. “It's Regent Kaie's keep, and way I hear it, Princess Maia's father's not even capable of tying his own bootlaces in the morning.”

Madanach had had just about enough of Nords. He stepped back, glancing each way and seeing several watching ReachGuard warriors all immediately try to look like they'd definitely not been following or staring or anything. Regent Kaie's keep, hmm? Time to test that theory. One illusion to hide his hands and the sound of magic, then two paralysis spells and seconds later, two Oculatus agents were keeling over. Madanach caught them both by the arms and lowered them to the ground slightly more gently than either warranted.

“You and you!” Madanach snapped. “Guard this door with your lives. Rest of you lot get these two back to the barracks and caution them for obstructing the rightful King of the Reach. If anyone needs me, I shall be talking with my daughters. Oh, and good morning.”

“Yes sir,” several ReachGuard soldiers gasped at once, all hauling the Oculatus away, and the two he'd called to guard the door falling into position and saluting. So much for the Reach being under a regency. Madanach had a feeling he could round up an army simply by walking into a Forsworn settlement or two and ordering people to follow him regardless of the legalities. It was working in Markarth.

Of course, first he had to talk to the current Regent, not to mention the Oculatus' charge. Only fair to warn Kaie he'd just knocked out two members of the Penitus Oculatus after all. He had a feeling there might be consequences.

But right now all he could think about was Maia. Reaching up, he knocked gently on the door, before pushing it open and casting a candlelight spell.

Three of them, two of his blood and one adopted, all snuggled up in bed together. One thirty five year old Reachwoman warrior with dyed sky blue hair shaved on both sides and looking a lot less fearsome than usual with her eyes closed and the war paint off. One fourteen year old Nord with dark hair curled up on Kaie's right, already turning into the makings of a beautiful young woman if Madanach was any judge. He made a mental note to order the ReachGuard to run background checks on any and all potential suitors.

And on Kaie's left, the most vulnerable of all three, a small figure hidden under a mass of reddish-blonde hair, snuggled under blankets and barely visible, but it was her. Little Maia, child of him and Elisif, five years old and dear gods, she'd doubled in size from the look of it. Fast asleep now, and Madanach was torn between wanting to wake her up so he could talk to her and just watching her sleep.

Sadly for him, Kaie solved that problem, opening her eyes and frowning as she realised the room was lit up, both her sisters were asleep, someone was in her room and it wasn't her wife.

Madanach only got out of the way of the ice spike in time.

“You better have a damn good reason for creeping in my bedroom, fetcher!” Kaie snarled, casting mage armour and summoning her sword from across the room, Sofie and Maia both waking as they heard the magic flaring, and Madanach was pleased to note both were casting mage armour of their own and summoning flames into their hands. Sofie looked as angry as her sister, but Maia looked terrified – trained perhaps, but no warrior, not really. Madanach carefully closed his hands into fists and straightened up, fists to his chest to show peaceful intent... and Kaie and Sofie both lowered their hands, staring in stunned amazement.

“Da?” Sofie whispered and Madanach nodded, trying to smile but having difficulty due to the tears currently welling up in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Madanach whispered. “Yeah, it's me. Hello, Sofie cariad.”

“Da,” Kaie whispered, and her hands were lowering, magic going out and a smile slowly spreading across her face, a triumphant grin, and she must have suspected, must have known he'd been healed somehow. Then she sniffed and turned away, wiping her eyes and frowning, which was Kaie all over. No bawling her eyes out for Kaie, even seeing her once dying father back from the brink. Sofie though was a different matter, already leaping out of bed and running round in her nightdress to hug him. By the gods, she was nearly as tall as he was, how in the Void had that happened?

“You're all right,” Sofie gasped, face buried in his chest, voice cracking as she clung on to a father she'd given up as lost. 

“Yes,” Madanach said gruffly. “Yes, I'm better. I don't know how or what god I need to thank, but praise the old gods, I'm healed. Sofie, inyeen, don't cry.”

Sofie, having been raised by a Nord father who'd loved her, and then a Reachman adoptive father who'd also lavished affection on her, had never learned to hide her emotions from her parent like Kaie had, and was openly sobbing as she held him.

“I missed you!” she sobbed. “You just got sicker and sicker and you had no idea who I was and everyone said you were going to die, and...!”

Madanach held her close and kissed her forehead and whispered he was sorry, so sorry, but he was back and by the grace of the gods would never get that sick again, not for a long time. Sofie nodded and held him tighter, and if it had just been that daughter he might have stayed like that for a long time... but there were two others in the room, one smiling, but one still staring up at him in terror with fire still flickering in one hand and clutched in the other, a stuffed green frog toy with unfeasibly long limbs and sequins sewed to its back.

“Spells down, sweetie,” Kaie said softly, placing a hand on Maia's arm, and the little girl did lower her hand and let the magic go at least. “Do you recognise him, little one? That's your da, that is. He was ill for a long time, but he's all better now, look. He can walk again and get dressed and everything!”

Maia had looked up at Kaie, still looking pensive, and Kaie stroked her little sister's hair and smiled tenderly at her before nodding in Madanach's direction. Maia turned back towards him, staring up at him solemnly, mouth falling open in amazement.

“Daddy?” Maia whispered, and Madanach kissed Sofie and let her go before coming to kneel by the bed, smiling up at his little girl hopefully.

“Yeah,” he managed to say, realising the tears were rolling down his cheeks in earnest now. “Yeah, it's me. Hello, Maia. I don't remember much about the last few years but I remember you, little one. You look just like your mother.”

“She's not here,” Maia whispered. “She had to go away to pray to Kynnaref for you to get better.”

“Well, it worked,” Madanach told her, stroking Maia's hair back out of her face. “I'm up and about, look.”

Maia stared at him, eyes wide in the magelight, and for a moment Madanach wondered if she was going to burst into tears or turn away and cuddle Kaie instead. She did neither of those things. Next thing Madanach knew, Maia had pounced, arms round his neck as she clung on to him, shaking all over, not saying anything, just cuddling her father for the first time in years. Madanach held on to her, knowing he'd let her down but silently vowing he'd make up for it now. As Kaie's hand found his back and Sofie joined the hug as well, Madanach was quietly thankful for a chance to start over. All he needed now was his wife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Maia had proved reluctant to let him go, having to be peeled off him in order to get dressed and brush her hair, tasks which she'd only agreed to do on condition he helped her. So Madanach sighed and agreed and secretly rather enjoyed brushing Maia's hair and braiding the front locks and tying them round her head for her, and carrying her back to her own bedroom to pick out a dress to wear.

Maia's bedroom turned out to be a former storage room turned nursery, and while the furniture was standard Dwemer fare (apart from the bed which was wood with a straw mattress and definitely not stone), the extravagant mural on the wall of a pond in a forest with stars twinkling in the night sky, and brightly coloured birds swooping around in flight or perched in trees, and frogs sitting on lily pads and looking up at the moons was decidedly not. 

“Who painted all this?” Madanach asked, impressed at the artwork and fairly certain this had not been here before. 

“Some of the ReachGuard,” Maia answered, clutching her little frog toy to her. “Mama found out some of them could draw and asked if they'd paint some pictures on the wall for me, so they asked what I wanted and I wanted a picture of Frogella's home so she could look at it, and they painted all this! They didn't mind. They said it got them out of doing real work.”

Madanach made a mental note to track these particular guards down and either give them an arts grant or a boot up the backside, he wasn't sure which. But Maia seemed happy so he wasn't inclined to worry too much. Of course that then begged the question of who Frogella was, but Maia was happy to answer that one. Frogella turned out to be the little frog toy she'd been clutching on to throughout, who was apparently a little frog princess from the bottom of the Karth, and it turned out her daddy was ill too. She'd apparently come to Markarth looking for a cure but decided to stay and be Maia's friend. Which was... alright, this was going to be harder than expected.

“Do you think Frogella's da will get better now?” Madanach murmured, ruffling Maia's hair as he cuddled her. Maia looked a bit confused by the question then shrugged.

“I don't know,” Maia said. “I mean, her daddy's illness is very different to what you had, I don't know if there's a cure. But he might get better one day? And anyway, Frogella's here now and wants to keep me company.”

Madanach smiled, trying to ignore the lump in his throat as he hugged his daughter, before suggesting perhaps she could get dressed now and what did she want to wear.

That distracted her, and soon Maia was going through her wardrobe, examining all the dresses she owned (a considerable number – Elisif always had been fond of clothes, she'd clearly been in ecstasies over having someone else to dress up in fancy things), and that was before you even looked at the shoes and accessories. Madanach had never really considered himself an expert on this sort of thing, and once this would have been exactly the sort of thing he'd have palmed off on Elisif or someone who knew what they were doing. But he'd not interacted properly with Maia in years, nor she with him. So Madanach sat patiently alongside her and offered his opinion (“that blue one's nice, it goes with your eyes”) and diligently got her looking her best, and generally acted like the burning question of which slippers went with which circlet and if either went with the dress were the most important things in the world. They obviously weren't. But they made Maia happy and as far as Madanach was concerned, that definitely was.

“All right, inyeen, you're all done, shall we get breakfast now?” Madanach murmured as Maia admired herself in the nearby mirror. To his surprise, she actually shivered as he spoke, reflected eyes almost seeming to have walls go up inside them.

“Inyeen?” Madanach said, frowning. “Is something wrong? Maia?”

Relief flooded Maia's face as she turned round, running to cuddle him.

“You still remember me!” Maia gasped. “I thought... you used to call me inyeen when you'd forgotten who I was!”

 _I did, didn't I._ To Madanach's shame, he realised it had predated the breakdown too – memories of playing with Maia, and suddenly realising he wasn't sure which of the girls it was, and calling her daughter or princess, hoping no one would notice. At the time, he thought he'd got away with it... but evidently Maia at some point had realised.

“I'm sorry, Maia,” Madanach murmured, holding her to him, not quite feeling able to look her in the eye, and frankly how could he claim to be even a halfway decent father after what he'd put her through these last few years. But he'd do whatever he could to make it up to her.

Maia snuggled in closer.

“It wasn't your fault, Daddy,” she whispered. “You were ill.”

He should have been there. Should have been better, stronger, never taken Skooma, been there for her. It didn't matter he'd not been able to help it, that he'd already been walking the path since well before Maia had even been conceived. She was his daughter and she'd needed him and he'd not been there. 

_I will be here for you now, little one. Little Maia. For as long as you need me._

“Well, I'm better now, Maia inyeen, and I'm not going anywhere,” Madanach told her. “Now, did you want breakfast?”

“Yes!” Maia whispered, before picking up her frog toy and listening carefully to it. “Oh, and Frogella wants some too. Frogella would like porridge please. And some toast. With jam.”

Madanach smiled and carefully put an arm round her, and, surprising himself with his own regained strength, successfully picked her up. Maia squealed and put her arms round him, beaming at him as he carried her out. It seemed Maia had forgiven him. As always, forgiving himself was going to be the tougher prospect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Madanach had just about got used to the stares from the watching ReachGuard as he walked past. Sure, they'd stand to attention like always, but they'd hesitate for just that fraction of a second first. As if they weren't sure if he was King any more.

Nor was Madanach at the moment, but he supposed that could all come later. A medical check-up, a rest, a little holiday, time with Elisif, time with the kids, time spent rebuilding his life and his family and working out where they all went from here. Gods knew he needed to think all this over.

He walked out into the main court room, intending only to find the kitchens, put Maia down, sort out a breakfast order for them both and then get some food in his belly. He had a surprise coming to him.

The courtroom was full. Palace servants, various officials, nearly all the palace guard, citizens, everyone. Dear gods, half of Markarth must be here, and they were all staring at him.

“Daddy?” Maia whispered. “What's going on?”

Madanach didn't know either but he had a feeling word of his miraculous recovery had got around. A commotion at the front, and the familiar figure of his old friend Uraccen emerged, silver circlet of a senior court official on his head and was that Nepos's old ring??

“Good to see you, Madanach,” Uraccen announced, but his usual deadpan tone was belied by the smile on his face. “We were worried. Keep's magicka detectors went off the scale and then there you were on the floor, unconscious but apparently healed. Then Borkul tells me you're actually up and about and your old curmudgeonly self again. Good to see he wasn't exaggerating.”

“Why'd I do that?” Borkul wanted to know, pushing through the crowds to stand next to the vampire, also smiling. “There he is, alive and well and ready to start killing his enemies and lording it over all and sundry again. Praise Malacath.”

Madanach found it very hard to not smile at that.

“I am feeling a lot better, yes,” Madanach told him. “Uraccen, not that I'm not pleased to see you, but weren't you stationed out at Winterhold?”

“Not for some time, Madanach,” Uraccen said, smile fading. “Keirine suggested me as the replacement Steward of the Reach and Kaie agreed. And seeing as Mirabelle and I had had that little falling out… well, I was looking for an opportunity to get out of Winterhold and go back home. It was your last act as King before we felt we had no choice but to invoke Regency. Kaie's been Princess Regent ever since and I've served as Steward. I – we – it's good to see you again, Madanach. The entire country's missed you.”

“Have they really,” Madanach said, raising an eyebrow. “I had no idea I was so popular.”

Uraccen allowed himself a little smile at that. “My informants tell me you're mourned and missed all over the Reach. Apparently it's far easier to sing the praises of the Liberator when your taxes aren't being collected in his name.”

Kaie must love that. All the same, she'd not had him killed, so presumably her loyalty was still solid. And speaking of children, he had a son around here somewhere, didn't he?

“Da!”

And there he was, Sofie scrambling behind him crying see, see, hadn't she told him, Da was better! Aventus Aretino ap Madanach, seventeen years old, dark hair grown to his shoulders, already experimenting with a goatee beard, turning rapidly into a grown man with broad shoulders and muscles under that leather armour of his, and as tall as him – no, slightly taller – _what??_

“Bion, when did you get taller than me?” Madanach demanded and Aventus had the nerve to blush.

“Sorry, Da. Your cooks kept feeding me,” Aventus admitted, but despite the embarrassment, he was grinning from ear to ear, eyes shining. 

Madanach muttered something about children having the nerve to get taller than their fathers, it was some sort of crime against the gods, and then he put Maia down and went to embrace the boy turned man that was his son.

“When did you get all grown up?” Madanach murmured, feeling his throat tightening at the thought of another child he'd let down, and Aventus patted his back and hugged his father.

“It's all right, Da,” Aventus said softly. “You're back. That's all that matters. We missed you, Sof and I.”

Sofie nodded, and Madanach included her in the hug too, his adoptive children, not his by blood but his because he'd found them lonely and abandoned in Ulfric Stormcloak's city, but being resilient and resourceful and brave in a world that didn't care, and Madanach had been so impressed he'd ended up adopting them.

He had never regretted that decision but he wondered now if perhaps they did.

“I'm so sorry,” he felt he had to tell them. Nearly adults, these two, and they knew, they must have done, and yet here they still were, still loving him regardless.

“It's OK, Da,” Sofie said gently. “You're still our da and we still love you. Elisif and Kaie looked after us, and Aventus got to stay at Jorrvaskr for a bit too.”

“Eola says if I keep up my training, I can go stay there permanently once I'm eighteen!” Aventus added. “Er... if you're OK with that, of course.”

Once upon a time, Madanach would have been outraged at the thought of any son of his taking up with Jorrvaskr. But time had mellowed him, his daughter having taken over as Harbinger had a way of improving his opinion of the place, and quite honestly after the last three years, he felt he owed his son.

“If it's what you want to do,” Madanach told him. “Just don't forget to write. And keep an eye on my grandkids. And do not listen to a word Cicero says.”

“I'll try not to,” Aventus grinned, hugging Madanach and wiping a tear from his eye. “But I'm not eighteen until Sun's Dusk, and I don't want to hike all the way to Whiterun in the middle of winter, so I don't have to leave until next year, do I?”

“No bion,” Madanach said, smiling. “No, you don't need to leave just yet.”

Madanach let both his fosterlings go and glanced up just as the room, previously abuzz with chattering, fell silent as Kaie arrived, now fully dressed in her own black and gold Forsworn gear, and clearly not amused.

“ _Father!_ ” Kaie snapped. “Why in Dibella's name have I just had the Oculatus commander in Markarth complaining about you paralysing two of his men and having them arrested?”

Quiet all over the throne room, and Madanach had a feeling some of those present were only just managing not to laugh.

“I wanted to go and cuddle Maia for the first time in years and they were in my way,” Madanach growled. “So seeing as this is my keep, I had them removed. Don't think I don't remember the agreement Elisif and I came to with the Oculatus – they're here to protect the two Imperial Heirs' wellbeing, and that involves their husband and father _not_ being edged out of their lives!”

“YOU'RE STILL UNDER REGENCY!” Kaie roared at him. “YOU DON'T HAVE LEGAL STANDING TO ORDER ARRESTS!”

“WELL YOU MIGHT WANT TO TELL THE REACHGUARD THAT BECAUSE EIGHT OF THEM DID WHAT I ASKED WITHOUT QUESTION!” Madanach shouted back, oblivious to the watching crowd all edging forward, all fascinated by the ensuing drama, and the older ones whispering this was more like it, once upon a time it had been like this _all the time_. Maia was being cuddled by Sofie and Aventus who were telling her not to worry, Madanach and Kaie were always like this.

“OH I WILL, BELIEVE ME!” Kaie shouted back, before shaking herself down, taking a few deep breaths and attempting to regain her temper. 

“You'll be pleased to know your security clearance is still intact,” Kaie said icily. “The Oculatus have accepted that perhaps they were being a little overzealous, and the two men involved have been sent back to Solitude. Nevertheless, I'm not lifting the Regency solely because you've had a miraculous cure of some sort. I can't anyway, I need the entire council back here to lift it. Sure, Borkul, Uraccen and I are all in the city, but Keirine's away with Elisif, and until they're back in the city, you're not back on the throne! I'll also want a full physical and psychological evaluation first, and no doubt you'll want to spend a bit of time with your wife and younger kids too. Hey, here's a thought – visit Eola and Argis. See your grandkids! See Skyrim! Have a holiday!”

“You want to get rid of me!” Madanach pouted, not sure how to deal with this at all. He'd never had Kaie in authority over him before. He really didn't like this. “Your own father and you want me out of Markarth!”

“No!” Kaie sighed. “I mean... look, you only just got out of your sickbed. You can't go from being near helpless to being Reach-King. We'll work something out, promise, and you'll have the Mournful Throne back soon enough. And I'll find you a job in the meantime too, because gods help me if you're left to your own devices, you'll probably just start organising a rebellion or something.”

Laughter from the crowd, and Madanach ruefully admitted that it was not entirely out of the question, particularly as a few of the braver souls from the back shouted 'All Hail the Reach-King!' and it might have been more if Kaie's chilly gaze hadn't swept the audience. Madanach grinned and gave them a thumbs-up, and that got rather more applause. Kaie shook her head and sighed.

“All right, you've seen him!” Kaie cried. “Saoirseach's back from the dead, look, so you can either cheer or go home. Dibella knows his ego's never objected to feeding.”

Madanach wondered which they'd do, but if the oldest daughter was a bit too jaded to really get into things, not to mention having to sort out political consequences, the youngest one had no such restrictions.

“YAY DADDY!” Maia cried. “I LOVE YOU DADDY!”

Madanach practically beamed at his little one before scooping her up and letting her look out at the rest of the crowd. And then Uraccen began to applaud, and it appeared that whatever else had been going on in the Reach, their steward was apparently well loved and very popular, because Borgakh joined in, and once the Acting Reach-Queen's wife had started clapping, the rest of them took that as permission to let go, and before long the entire keep was cheering and chanting his name.

Madanach lifted Maia higher so she could wave at the crowd, and smiled at his court welcomed him home. He had a feeling everything was going to be just fine. He couldn't have been more wrong. The crowd had only just started dispersing when another figure strode in, wearing ex-Volkihar armour and a scowl on his face, and scampering behind him, trying to keep up, were two little redhaired girls who looked extremely familiar, followed by several ReachGuard carrying all the luggage.

Kaie had stopped immediately on seeing them come in, eyes widening as she raced towards the newly-arrived Dunmer.

“Athis, what... what are you doing here, why've you brought the kids, where's Eola??” Kaie cried, clearly alarmed.

“Hello Auntie Kaie! Hello Auntie Borgakh!” both girls chorussed and it occurred to Madanach that particular hair and eye colouring was unique to one man in all Skyrim – Cicero. And they were calling Kaie auntie... Sithis, of course, he had grandchildren, didn't he? Twin girl babies, something no one had really been prepared for but he vaguely remembered two tiny toddlers.

Now they were nearly four and they were here. Without their blood parents.

Madanach felt a horrible sense of foreboding prickling at the back of his brain. His daughter was in trouble, he just knew. Advancing closer, he listened in.

“The girls are going to need to stay here for a bit, Kaie,” Athis said quietly. “I don't know... look, I'll explain everything, just say you'll take the girls until Eola and Cicero turn up.”

Kaie nodded before kneeling in front of two confused little children. 

“Hey, little ones,” Kaie said gently, and Madanach found it hard to believe that his hardbitten heir could sound quite that caring, but apparently she could manage it sometimes. “You're going to be staying here for a little while, is that OK? We'll get you a nice room and some toys and books and clothes, and I'll have Jorrvaskr send over anything you couldn't bring. And look, here's Maia, you remember Maia, right?”

Maia was looking a bit pensive but not actually running away despite both twins turning as one to look at her, and promptly beaming at her. In moments, they'd left Kaie and raced to stand in front of Maia, grinning intently and looking just a bit too pleased to see her.

“Hello Maia! We remember you!” one beamed. The other one nodded eagerly – was she the younger one? Stelmaria, wasn't it, after Cicero's mother? And Amalia was the older, named for Eola's deceased older sister, he remembered now.

“We played with you and sang songs for you last time we were here!” probably-Stelmaria added. “We can do it again!”

Maia said nothing, just looking up at him rather nervously, and Madanach did feel for his clearly-introvert little girl, faced with two determined twins who were insisting on being her friends.

“They're your nieces, little one, you do have to be nice, Maia,” Madanach said apologetically, patting Maia's back. “As long they don't ill-treat you, which you two won't, will you? You'll play gently now with Maia. She's not used to life in a mead hall like you are. And Maia, if you need a bit of quiet time, you just let Uraccen here know and you can have a lie down on your own if you like.”

Maia brightened up considerably on hearing this and turned back to the twins before curtseying to them.

“Hello Amalia. Hello Stelmaria. Welcome to Markarth. I hope you had a nice journey. Did you get the carriage?”

“Yes!” probably-Amalia squealed. “We could see over the tundra for miles and we got to see the stars and aurora, and Papa Cicero used his special bow to put the sun out so Daddy Athis could come out, and we got to stay up late until we got tired and then Daddy Athis made us a fur bed on the carriage floor. Then we woke up and we were in the Reach!”

“And now our backs are very sore,” Stelmaria added, smile fading a bit. “It's not that comfy. And I miss home. And I miss Mama. And Papa Cicero went away to find Mama and still isn't back either.”

Stelmaria looked very sad at this, and Amalia looked at her sister, also seeming a bit concerned, and Maia bit her lip before succumbing to the inevitable. 

“My mama went away as well, and Daddy was ill for ages,” Maia said gently. “He only just got better. Did you want to rest in my room? And when you're feeling better, we could play a game?”

Stelmaria brightened up and then Uraccen arrived and took charge of all three children, having already given orders to various servants to get two extra beds in Maia's room and some extra storage space too, and Madanach had a feeling the kids would be fine. Be good for Maia to have company too. His five year old would likely be fine. His thirty two year old on the other hand, might well be in trouble.

“All right, Athis, what's going on?” Madanach said quietly. “You wouldn't come all this way with the kids on your own, and Cicero would never leave his kids alone for long. Where is he? And... and Eola?”

His voice shook a bit on Eola's name, and Athis glanced up at him, staring in increasing wonder as he saw Madanach there, up, about and in full command of himself once more.

“By Azura. Don't tell me it worked!” Athis gasped, before grinning back at Madanach. “Well, something came out of this after all. Don't know what you heard, but Elisif came to do some ritual at the Temple of Kynareth to offer a sacrifice for your health. Of course, no one was expecting Kyne herself to turn up and take Elisif away through a portal in return for healing you.”

“What??” Madanach gasped, but deep inside it was true, had to be, hadn't a mysterious witch turned up and healed him? Kynareth herself, by the gods. And in return she'd taken his wife, and Madanach could almost wish himself sick again if it meant having her back. Almost. “Where did she take her? Why??”

“Don't know. I didn't witness it, I was asleep at the time – daylight, you know,” Athis shrugged. “I got the whole thing secondhand. Eola was there and that's the problem. Elisif's guards lost it on seeing her gone and tried to arrest Keirine. Ran Lydia through when she tried to stop them, and it was only Valerica's blood magic saved them. Valerica, Serana and Eola are on the run. Cicero's gone to find them. Balgruuf's willing to write the whole thing off as an accident but I don't think the Oculatus are giving up so easily. They want someone to blame.”

That sounded exactly like her, and frankly Madanach had to wonder if the Oculatus knew their charge at all if they thought Elisif was still the easily influenced young woman she'd once been – in fact, no, she'd already been well on the way to being a powerful queen when they'd taken over her protection.

Madanach reached out and patted Athis on the back. He'd always had a lot of time for the Dunmer warrior.

“Athis bion, thank you for telling me,” Madanach said softly. “And for bringing the girls. Go on, go rest. I'll sort this out.” How, Madanach had no idea, but a good first step would be finding Eola and bringing her back, and then finding out what the finest magical minds in two countries had to say about all this. Valerica and Keirine between them had to have a few ideas, right?

Athis wordlessly nodded a thank you, clearly exhausted beyond words by this point. Madanach didn't blame him, to have travelled all night to get here, with two little girls in tow and worrying about Eola the whole time... the man deserved a medal. As it was, Madanach could at least get him house room and a drink, in fact Kaie was already summoning guards to escort him to a guest room and find a blood potion for him. Madanach waited until she returned, grim-faced and cold-eyed.

“Well?” Madanach asked. “You know I'm going after Eola. I just wondered if you had any thoughts.”

“I'll get you a writ,” Kaie said, clearly sharing his thoughts on this matter. “I'll get you guards from the city and you can pick up more from Karthspire, Lost Valley, anywhere else on the way. Needs to be someone kin to her for the kinfinder to work. Track her down, bring her and the vamps back here. Need to find out just what went wrong… or right. The ritual worked, after all. But we need the witnesses here so we can work out where Elisif is and get her home. She's our closest ally, Da. We need her.”

 _I know that!_ The Reach needed her. Skyrim needed her. Maia needed her. _He_ needed her.

His wife was gone, his daughter out there somewhere, and he had a feeling his kingdom might be in the firing line. Things were not brilliant. But Madanach had had it worse – a lot worse.

_I will find my sister and daughter, I will track down Elisif and then I will bring her home and heads will roll. Count on it!_

But first he needed to gather his allies.

“Send word to Hag's End and Solitude, also get in touch with Jarl Balgruuf,” Madanach said firmly. “We need all the help we can get. In the meantime, don't panic. I'll find your sister, Serana too, and we'll work out what happened and where Elisif is. It's going to be fine.”

“I hope so,” Kaie said, shivering. “Just get Eola back here and leave the politics to me. Resolving this is going to be a tough one.”

Didn't he know that. But Madanach Saoirseach was reborn, rejuvenated, healthy and healed. About time the rest of the world found that out for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saoirseach = Liberator. Bion = son. Inyeen = daughter.
> 
> Next up, Madanach's reunited with Eola, only to find things have taken a turn for the worse in his absence...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madanach finds one child, but his return is marred by finding all is not well with the other...

Kaie had had no problem finding a guard escort of willing volunteers, which Borkul had quickly organised into a proper squad for him, and then it had been cutting his hand open and casting a blood magic spell to track down his kin. One solid dark gold tendril trailing off towards Solitude, far to the north-east. One red-black one trailing north to Hag's End. Kaie's, a steady red, illuminating her as she came to see him off, and next to her, a bright shiny yellow one highlighting Maia, and two more bouncy orange ones bathing the twins in light as the three children watched the magical display in awe.

“I want to learn how to do that!” Amalia announced. “Auntie Kaie, can I, please?”

“No!” Kaie snapped. “I mean, gods no, you're too little to be messing around with blood magic. When you're older and learn how to use normal magic properly, I'll think about teaching you, right?”

Amalia pouted, sulking and muttering how she was never allowed to learn anything _interesting,_ while Stelmaria patted her back and comforted her, and Maia looked thoughtful and announced she could make lights appear too if they wanted, Daddy's old magical books had instructions in them, and Madanach was torn between pride, stunned amazement at Maia being able to not only read but learn magic out of books, and the instinctive reaction to get Kaie to lock all magical tomes away _right now._

“Don't worry, I've hidden the really dangerous ones,” Kaie reassured him, grinning a little. She indicated the dark yellow tendril snaking off to the east. “Go on, go find Eola. Seems like she's holed up in one of the camps near the Whiterun border.”

East and a bit to the north – coincidentally a path that would take him through or near about three camps. Excellent.

“Wish me luck,” Madanach whispered as he kissed his older daughter goodbye. Kaie hugged him back, and then it was another cuddle for his littlest one, who made him promise to come home soon, and then his adoptees, and then the twins, who had apparently never really interacted with him before but seemed _fascinated_ with this new Granda of theirs who did fancy magic and ordered people around and who everyone looked scared of. Madanach promised them he'd bring their parents back and to keep Maia company in the meantime. Both twins enthusiastically promised to do just that, each taking one of Maia's arms in their hands and swearing they would be her best friends ever. Definitely Cicero's, as if there was any doubt of that, and Maia's vaguely betrayed look reminded Madanach of his feelings whenever Cicero skipped into the room. But there was no help for it, and while the twins might be a bit over the top, they weren't actually deranged. And so Madanach rode east, following the blood magic trail, gathering more followers with every camp he passed, and trying to ignore the stares and whispers... but the magical flares of celebration as he left did lift his spirits.

This was just like old times. Better in fact. They'd had three years or so with him as a fading power and his daughter in charge, and it seemed they still remembered him fondly. When Madanach stopped to change horses at Red Eagle Redoubt and cut through to the Sundered Towers on foot, it was hard to avoid an entire settlement turning out to have a look.

“Is that really him? Saoirseach?”

“That's him! I remember him from Windhelm. Gods, those were the days.”

“I heard he was dying. Lost his mind to Skooma, I heard.”

“Well, he got better. I mean, of course he got better, you can't keep a man like Madanach Saoirseach down. I mean, you can't expect him to follow the laws of nature like the rest of us, can you?”

Much agreement that that was the case and while Madanach was really rather gratified by all this, he made a mental note to tell Kaie to discourage veneration of him after he died. Mortal men and women did not turn into gods, not as far as anyone in the Reach was concerned, and Madanach was definitely sure he didn't want his people making an exception for him. But he had other concerns right now. Concerns such as getting to the Sundered Towers stables and riding across the tundra, the path turning south towards Serpent's Bluff and Rorikstead.

Madanach duly followed it, and with a whole troop of ReachGuard behind him, he found the trail leading straight into Serpent's Bluff, a redoubt overlooking Rorikstead which was technically in Whiterun Hold but a generous bribe to the Jarl meant this would be ignored so long as Rorikstead didn't suffer. Seeing as Rorikstead was doing rather well out of the whole thing thanks to Reachman coin being spent in the town, no one was complaining.

What Madanach hadn't expected to find in the camp was the Jarl of Whiterun himself along with his housecarl Irileth and a detachment of guards, and he definitely didn't expect to see said Jarl embracing his daughter before doing the same to an excited Cicero.

“Whiterun owes you a debt, Eola,” Balgruuf was saying. “You can rest easy, Lydia was able to tell us it wasn't your fault, nor that of the Reach… or the Volkihars. I've declared the whole thing disappearance by misadventure and entirely Elisif's fault. You won't be troubled further.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Eola replied, bowing. “I won't forget this. Nor will the Mournful Throne either. Lydia got hurt saving our First Matriarch, Keirine will remember that. You and Lydia need anything, you've got it.” 

“Good,” Balgruuf said gruffly. “As it is, thank Kynareth Lydia's going to be fine, although it'll be a while before she can swing a sword again. Hrongar's with her, she's convalescing at Dragonsreach. She was most upset at everything that happened – not being able to stop Elisif disappearing, or protect you. We'll take care of her, but you should know she's taking this hard.”

“I know,” Eola said quietly. “Please, will you tell her from me that it's not her fault. And thank her for trying to protect us. I don't know what happens next, but whatever happens, she'll always be welcome at Jorrvaskr as long as I'm there.”

Balgruuf promised to tell her this, and then both Eola and Balgruuf became aware of just how the atmosphere had just changed and the sheer amount of _whispering_ that had just broken out, and both turned as one to see who'd just arrived.

“By the N- by the gods,” Balgruuf breathed, eyes wide. Blonde hair was going grey but other than that, the Jarl of Whiterun was much as he'd been when Madanach had last seen him. “Can it be true? They told me you were near death!”

“I got better,” Madanach said, allowing himself a grin at Balgruuf's amazement. 

“You mean that ritual to Kynareth actually worked?” Irileth said, surprised. “Miraculous indeed.”

“Indeed,” Madanach said sombrely, as it slowly began to sink in that his daughter was fine... but his wife had paid the price for his rebirth and dammit why couldn't he feel Elisif?? It felt like she was underground, below him but very very far away, but that didn't make sense at all, did it?

He needed to talk to Keirine but right now, he had a daughter to tend to. Eola was staring at him, hand to her mouth and looking like she was about to cry, which was not an expression Madanach was used to seeing on her.

“Da?” Eola whispered, and Madanach nodded.

“Yeah. It's me.” He wasn't sure what else to say other than the obvious so he just held out his arms and let Eola run into them, holding his daughter and feeling his own eyes welling up as she clung onto him. Grown-up, fierce warrior-mage, and at heart she'd always idolise her father, just as he'd always treasure her.

“You're alright,” Eola whispered, and Madanach just nodded. Eola laughed and held him tight and all around Madanach could hear cheering breaking out, as the Reachmen welcomed him back. And then there was pawing at his arm, and Madanach turned to see Cicero gazing hopefully up at him. A little older, a few grey hairs, but other than that, same old Cicero.

“Suppose you want a cuddle as well, don't you?” Madanach growled and Cicero nodded. And so Madanach found himself cuddling both daughter and son-in-law and feeling glad beyond measure to have them. Even Cicero, who was actually observing personal space boundaries for once.

Of course, they weren't out of the woods yet, not by any means. Madanach needed to know just what had happened to Elisif, and it seemed the sole witnesses were here, although given the bright sunlight of a new day, it was likely neither Volkihar was on the surface.

“So, what now?” Madanach asked, glancing up at Balgruuf. “I heard something about Elisif trying a ritual to heal me... and it's worked. So where is she?”

Silence as Balgruuf and Irileth exchanged looks and Eola went very tense in his arms. 

“You mean the Reach doesn't know either,” Balgruuf said, starting to look vaguely horrified. “We were hoping you'd have some insight.”

“No,” Madanach said, feeling the skin on his neck prickling and his blood chilling and his heart starting to speed up as it finally hit home Elisif was gone and no one, _no one_ , knew where she was. “All I remember is a strange woman with white hair and gold eyes appearing in my bedroom and casting some spell on me... and then apparently I passed out and woke up hours later myself again.”

“Wait, white hair and golden eyes?” Eola gasped. “Did she have this sort of steel circlet on her head with a big pointy bit in the middle and red leather armour with black feathers on the shoulders?”

Now that Eola mentioned it... 

“Yeah,” Madanach said slowly. “Why – do you know her? Who is she??”

“She came through the portal,” Eola gasped. “She said she had a lot of names, Kynareth might be one, but she's also called Flemeth and Asha'bellanar. I don't know those names, do you?”

“Flemeth, no, but Asha'bellanar... there's an old Aldmeri legend Keirine told me once, not long after I got out of jail, about the Old Woman, or Woman of Many Years,” Madanach said uncertainly. “Some kind of dragon spirit, or witch who could change into a dragon... or maybe a dragon who can turn into a woman. Sometimes she's called the Southern Dragon, and sometimes she's associated with Kynareth. I didn't think she ever existed though. She just sometimes turns up, or turns up when summoned by someone truly in need, or used to in years gone by... Keirine refused to let me try the summoning ritual, said only the truly desperate ever called on her.”

Only the truly desperate... such as a lonely wife whose husband didn't recognise her and who couldn't bear to watch any more. Elisif must have managed to get the information on the ritual out of Keirine, and Keirine must have finally got sentimental enough to say yes.

“And it worked,” Eola whispered. “Look at you, you're all better!”

“But our High Queen is gone,” Balgruuf said grimly. “And I don't know if the Empire will take this lightly. You already saw how the Oculatus reacted. The news will be in Solitude by now, and Skyrim is not so united that it can withstand losing its leader for long. You need to find her.”

Well of course he did, Madanach found the mere idea of life without Elisif unbearable. Not to mention Maia – oh gods, Maia, what the actual fuck was he going to tell Maia? She'd be heartbroken.

Not to mention Elisif's absence had already caused one incident, and there could well be more. Balgruuf was right in that respect.

“So what happens in Skyrim if the High Queen vanishes suddenly?” Madanach asked, dreading the answer.

“We find her,” Balgruuf said firmly. “Under Nord law, the throne can remain vacant for up to a year but after that, there has to be a new Moot, and if there's an emergency in the meantime, any Jarl can call one anyway. And Solitude presently doesn't have one if Elisif's gone. Don't tell me Maia's old enough to assume the role. Nord law does not allow for child Jarls – if the previous Jarl doesn't have an adult heir, the Hold selects a new one.”

Which meant he'd need to get to Solitude, find Argis, make sure the new Jarl was someone Reach-friendly... well, he'd just answered his own question. Jarl Argis had a nice ring to it, and he could always step down in Elisif's favour when they found her. And they would find her. He needed to speak to Keirine, find out what his options were... yes, his sister would have some ideas.

“I'll get her back,” Madanach promised. “In the meantime I can rely on you to be the voice of reason in Skyrim? Keep your fellow countrymen from doing anything rash?”

“As always,” Balgruuf promised. “You should probably get in touch with Solitude though – the court is likely worried, and I'm sure Maro will have opinions on the matter too.”

Another headache, but happily for him, Kaie could handle that one. Madanach suddenly found himself in absolutely no hurry to go back to work.

“I'll deal with it,” Madanach promised. “You head home, we'll be in touch with news. As for you two, get your things. You have two small children eagerly awaiting your return in Markarth.”

“Children!” Cicero squealed. “Athis made it, he did, he did! Yes, yes, Cicero will go at once!” He promptly let go and ran to gather his things and Eola's, then go into the ruins below and track down their vampire accomplices, and the Whiterun contingent all filed out. Eola took advantage of relative privacy to snuggle a bit closer.

“I'm so glad you're back,” Eola whispered. “Da, are you sure we're out of trouble?”

“I don't know,” Madanach said softly. “But I will not let them hurt you. Come on. Let's go home. I think I need to visit your brother and get Solitude settled, and then it's time we found your aunt. She must know how to find Elisif.”

And if she didn't... Madanach didn't want to think too hard about that one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

If Madanach thought things were about to calm down, he was proved dramatically wrong on returning to Markarth, as Sofie almost flew out of the Keep and into his arms, tears rolling down her face.

“Daddy, Daddy, you have to do something!” Sofie cried. “The Oculatus turned up as soon as you left, and they've taken Maia!”

Madanach could feel the world standing still around him as the barely held in panic over Elisif intensified... and then settled into cold hard fury. His daughter. They'd taken his littlest girl away, by force from the sounds of it, and Maia hadn't even done anything wrong. Rationally, he could see their point – the older Imperial Heir missing, whereabouts unknown, and the Reach a suspect in the matter – of course they'd want the younger one under guard. But Maia was _his daughter_ and she was _five years old_ and probably terrified. And the Oculatus didn't see that, they just saw her as an object to protect. They saw the Imperial Heir, not the little girl.

“Where's Kaie,” Madanach snapped, wanting an explanation off his oldest daughter on what she was thinking just letting them take her younger sister.

“Inside,” Sofie told him. “Aventus was arguing with her earlier about it but she just told him she had the entire Reach to think about and wasn't risking war over it. But Maia's our little sister!”

Of course she was, and she was closer to Aventus and Sofie than the others due to having lived alongside them all her childhood, and Sofie in particular had apparently adopted something of a parental role towards her little sister. Madanach patted her on the shoulder and promised he'd do something.

Eola and Cicero had already run into the Keep and promptly been ambushed by two hysterical twins who clung on to them exclaiming that they'd missed them and were the Oculatus going to take them away as well? One twin each, and both Eola and Cicero were comforting them and promising no one was going to take them away, Cicero rather more vehemently than his wife, in fact he was promising stabbing until Eola told him to stop, he was scaring them (well, Stelmaria anyway, Amalia on the other hand seemed quite excited about the idea).

Fortunately, Madanach had had the sense to bring Serana with him – while her mother had retreated to Castle Volkihar to start doing some experiments and hitting up her Daedric contracts for information, Serana had elected to wait before returning to Solitude. No sense venturing into a situation without full information, was there? But as a vampire who'd been living in the city for four years now, Madanach had a feeling she'd have more insight than most.

“Serana,” Madanach sighed. “What do you think the Oculatus are going to do with my little girl.”

“Hard to say,” Serana admitted. “They won't want to harm her but… Elisif told Maro what she was planning. He looked dubious but he didn't object. Honestly, I don't think he thought it would do anything. None of us did. Keirine told me she thought it might attract some spirit who'd lie, but no one thought… no one thought Kyne would turn up! And no one thought she'd take Elisif in payment. So… I guess Maro's panicked. And he thinks the Reach did this somehow, because Keirine's grimoire had the ritual in it. He doesn't want Elisif's heir in the hands of the ones who killed her mother. I don't know what he'll do once she's in Solitude, but he won't take her to the Blue Palace. Not with your son in charge. Even if he is Maia's big brother.”

So likely a prisoner in Castle Dour then. Likely miserable and unhappy and frightened and missing her mother and… he needed to find her. But first, he needed to find out just what Kaie had been _thinking_.

Kaie was sitting in the Mournful Throne looking utterly exhausted, Borgakh and Uraccen alongside her trying to comfort her.

“You did the right thing,” Borgakh was saying. “There'd have been blood otherwise. I'm no stranger to violence but I've seen the Empire at work. Too big to argue with.”

“Yeah?” Kaie said softly. “Tell that to Maia. She looked so betrayed.”

“We'll get access to her,” Uraccen promised. “They're going to Solitude, right? Argis is steward there, he can get to see her. Maia's the Jarl's daughter, Nords aren't going to stand for Imperial forces taking their Jarls' children hostage.”

“Whereas we apparently roll over and let them do what they want when they take ours??” Madanach roared down the Keep's hallway. “Kaie, what in the Void happened?? Where is your sister?”

Kaie looked up, horror in her eyes as she remembered her father wasn't an elderly invalid any more but a fully functioning battlemage with faculties intact and opinions he'd never been shy about sharing. And now he was back and furious.

“Da, I didn't have a choice, they said they'd arrest us all for treason against the Empire if we didn't let them take her!” Kaie cried. “Gaius Maro arrived in person, he said we had no business manipulating a vulnerable woman into taking part in dangerous rituals!”

“Manipulate?? Has he tried to manipulate Elisif lately?” Madanach cried. “It's not exactly an easy task! She was always strong-willed and a little on the hotheaded side, and then she got wise enough to spot when she was being screwed over! This whole ritual was her idea!”

“I know that!” Kaie shouted back. “But he wouldn't listen. He just... took my sister.”

Genuine grief and heartbreak in Kaie's eyes and Madanach felt the anger fade a little. It sounded like they'd been strong-arming her with threats of treason trials and overthrows, and Kaie would have remembered the last overthrow of a Reachman ruler – the death, blood, screaming, citizens dying, having to flee for her life with her mother and sisters and not even knowing if her father was still alive until weeks later. She'd been four at the time. No wonder she'd caved.

“All right,” Madanach said roughly. “You didn't want another Markarth Incident. I understand. But they had no right to take her. They're the Emperor's bodyguards, not his army. The generals don't have to listen to the Oculatus, not unless the Emperor orders them. We can use that.”

Kaie was not a fool and she caught his meaning at once.

“You think Rikke might help?” General Rikke, Military Governor of Skyrim and head of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim and the Reach, appointed to the role after General Tullius had retired back to Cyrodiil. Not exactly a natural ally of the Reach, but a reasonable woman, sensitive to Nord customs... and highly unlikely to approve of the Oculatus taking a little girl hostage, still less a Jarl's daughter. Madanach nodded, hoping his instincts on this were right. Trusting Nords did not come easily to him, but he'd taken a chance on Elisif and it had worked out. Time to hope her supporters in Skyrim proved as reasonable.

“She might. I also ran into Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun while I was retrieving your other sister. Apparently when Lydia tried to stop them cutting down your aunt, they ran her through with a sword and left her for dead. Sheer luck that the best healers in Skyrim were on hand or she likely would be. As it is, she's alive but her father's about ready to kill someone and Jarl Balgruuf's very keen to have it pointed out to the Imperial bureaucracy that Skyrim has her limits.” Madanach did smile a little on seeing Kaie's surprised reaction. “See, daughter, our kingdom has friends after all.”

“Jarl Balgruuf's taking our side?” Kaie gasped, stunned at a Nord Jarl other than Elisif actually being friendly to them. “But I thought...”

“Well, apparently he's a reasonable man,” Madanach sighed. “Reach out to him and thank him and offer to send assistance with cleaning the temple if they need it, or at least some compensation for the damage to his city, and he'll be your friend. Meanwhile, looks like I need to head to Solitude sooner than I thought. I was going anyway, to see Argis and family, and make sure all was well, but according to Balgruuf, with Elisif gone the city needs a new Jarl and Maia's too young. I need to make sure the new Jarl is friendly to the Reach and understands the need to step down when Elisif returns.”

“Argis,” Kaie said instantly. “He's already steward, no one will object. They didn't seem to kick up a fuss when Elisif left the city for months to go kill dragons and stop the civil war and left her previous steward in charge, after all.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Madanach purred. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to Solitude. Borkul! Borkul, where are you – there you are, round up some guards, not the ones who came to Serpent's Bluff earlier. We've got a princess to rescue.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was very fortunate indeed that Madanach didn't do everything his wife told him. It was exceedingly fortunate that she didn't know about the teleportal hidden away in Potema's old catacombs under the city. Fortunate indeed for Madanach, because time was of the essence and he definitely wasn't up for the journey to Solitude this late in the day on foot.

So it was Markarth's own teleportal fired up and Madanach led Borkul, Serana and a small group of ReachGuard through to the secret emergency portal in Solitude, bursting out into the Temple of the Divines and darting past some startled priests until they emerged into the late afternoon sunlight in Castle Dour's courtyard.

It seemed Madanach's luck was in. Maro himself was standing out in the courtyard, being harangued by two heavily armoured Nord warriors with a squad of city guards at their back. And Madanach was very pleased and proud to note his own son doing most of the haranguing.

“Maro, I have the Jarl's authority to preside over this city in her absence, and I'm reminding you that the High Queen's permission is required for the Empire to even be here in Skyrim. So, for the last time, do you mind telling me why an entire squad of your men just escorted a crying child who looks just like my little sister into Castle Dour and now you won't let me have access to her?”

So she was here, good. But locked up and her own brother not allowed to even see her, a brother with the Jarl's authority to act... not good. Madanach had arrived not a moment too soon.

“Look, I understand your concern, but in light of the current emergency, we need to have the remaining Imperial Heir under close guard, and I can hardly leave her in the custody of her mother's likely betrayers, can I – oof!”

Maro was now dangling a foot off the ground as Argis had moved in, dangerously close to losing his temper, and grabbed Maro by the shoulder straps. Swords were being drawn and Madanach had a horrible feeling this was not going to go well.

“Where. Is. My. SISTER?” Argis bellowed in the man's face.

“For goodness sake, man, have you lost your mind?” Maro cried, and Madanach decided now was the time to interrupt before things got even more out of hand.

“Argis, that's enough!” Madanach shouted. “Put him down!”

Argis promptly let go, years of life in the Forsworn having conditioned him to respond to Madanach's voice on instinct... and then it occurred to him he'd not heard his father sound that commanding in years.

“Da?” Argis whispered, turning around, and Madanach sprinted across the courtyard to his son's side.

“Son, don't threaten him, it won't help-!” Madanach found the breath knocked out of him as Argis reached out and pulled him into a full Nord bear hug.

“You're all right,” Argis said, voice muffled and Madanach was at least able to reach out and awkwardly pat his son on the back. Argis held him for a second or two longer before letting him go and turning to his husband Farkas, who was also grinning.

“Hey! Madanach! Good to see you! Welcome back!” And then Madanach had his son-in-law giving him a quick hug as well. Madanach put up with it. Farkas was fundamentally harmless as long as you treated him and his loved ones with respect. 

“Yes, it's me, yes, I'm fine, no I'm not really sure how, but praise the Aedra, right?” Madanach grinned at his son. “Now, what's all this I hear about my little girl being forcibly taken from my Keep and kept a prisoner in Castle Dour with her kin not being allowed in to see her, hmm?”

Madanach turned his most vicious smile on Gaius Maro, who suddenly looked very nervous and very young.

“By the gods,” Maro breathed. “You – you're alive! And healthy! You mean, the ritual really was to heal you? Your people weren't luring Elisif into a trap?”

“Why the fuck would we do that to our closest ally?” Madanach growled. “Even if extremist factions in the Reach did resent her enough to kill her – and by the way, we make sure any plans like that don't get off the ground in the first place – why in Oblivion would my own kin be involved?? Matriarch Keirine's spent her entire life working for the Forsworn cause, she's hardly likely to turn on me now. And as for Harbinger Eola of Jorrvaskr, you surely don't think she's a Nord-hating extremist.”

“Ah, well, when you put it like that...” Maro began, and then another voice rang out as the voice of authority marched in.

“Commander Maro, why are my agents telling me of an attempted murder and abduction in the middle of Whiterun by _your men??_ ” General Rikke shouted as she marched towards them. “In the middle of the Temple of Kynareth, no less! The Jarl of Whiterun's niece badly wounded and a stand-off with Jorrvaskr – do I need to remind you we fought a war over the Empire's presence in Skyrim barely seven years ago, and that there's still a few Nords out there who'd love to see us gone? The last thing we need is Imperial officers clamping down on well-respected Nords without cause!”

“Ah, now General, with all due respect, I think you'll find that the Oculatus is allowed to do whatever it feels necessary to protect the lives of the Imperial Heirs, and my men genuinely believed that the Reach had been responsible for the loss of the High Queen...”

“Jarl Balgruuf thinks otherwise,” Madanach snapped, about tired of having this argument. “Lydia's testified no one expected the ritual to even work, never mind for Elisif to be offered a chance to heal me in return for her help. Isn't that right, Serana?”

“Honestly, I thought it was going to just another long shot that didn't do anything,” Serana admitted. “I just didn't want to hurt Elisif's feelings. She had so much hope for this one, and Keirine said her grimoire hadn't let her down yet. But none of us were hopeful it would do anything. So we did a ritual without fully knowing what it did – if that's a crime, you'd better lock all mages up now, because every magical institution does experimental rituals!”

“Most of them don't involve losing a High Queen!” Maro snapped at her.

“A High Queen who knew it was dangerous and did it anyway!” Serana cried.

“Yes, because she's got no sense of self-preservation!” Maro sighed. “She's fearless and prepared to sacrifice everything to save her people, everyone knows that. She's easy prey to be manipulated if someone wanted to sacrifice her to bring their king back!”

“That is NOT what the Reach was planning!” Madanach shouted, losing his temper. “And if I find ANYONE in my kingdom planned it this way, to restore me at my wife's expense, I will execute them myself. I didn't want healing at this price! And honestly, given the way Kaie's been acting since I got healed, I'm not entirely sure it's completely welcome for her. She's got used to being Reach-Queen!”

A dangerous admission, but Madanach was running low on options, and it wasn't untrue either. Kaie loved him, but he'd not stopped feeling like an inconvenient obstacle all day.

“All right, that's enough,” Rikke said tersely. “We can argue about this all day, but the plain truth of the matter is Queen Elisif is missing and we need to find her. I'm prepared to believe Serana at least would not have agreed to any course of action that would suddenly deprive her of a patron.”

“She's a bloody vampire whose father tried to put the sun out and take over Skyrim, how do we know she's really loyal??” Maro seethed. “I'm half tempted to arrest her now!”

“You don't have legal power of arrest, Maro, that's the Jarl's prerogative, and in her absence, the guard answer to me!” Argis shouted, jabbing at Maro.

“Actually, I think you'll find in an emergency, Imperial authority...” Maro began, and Rikke finally lost patience with him. In an emergency, the Empire could in theory assume direct rule… but that role would not fall to the Penitus Oculatus, and Rikke was keen for people to remember who the voice of Imperial authority really was.

“You people are bodyguards, not law enforcement!” Rikke snapped. “And Elisif was very insistent that justice in Skyrim is to be dispensed by Jarls, not by the Empire. If Jarl Balgruuf's assured this was unintentional, then that's good enough for me. We will not waste time arguing and pointing the finger while our High Queen is in trouble.” Rikke turned to Madanach, actually looking pleased to see him.

“King Madanach. It's been a long time since we've seen you up and about. Welcome back.”

“It's good to be back, Rikke,” Madanach said, feeling definitely a bit more hopeful about things now. “And before we go any further, may I just state the Reach is committed to remaining with the Empire and is as concerned as you about Elisif. We honestly didn't expect the price for my health would be Kyne or her avatar whisking Elisif away to do... something. I don't know what, but clearly something requiring a Dragonborn warrior-queen who everyone falls in love with at first sight.”

“Glad to hear it,” Rikke said approvingly. “I must say, when Elisif first told me what she was planning, I honestly thought it'd be one more lost cause. I didn't know it'd actually work!”

“No,” Maro echoed. “I mean... so that means the Reach aren't responsible for Elisif's disappearance.”

“No,” Madanach growled. “Which means you people can stop harassing us. It also means I would quite like access to my probably terrified little girl _right now_ so I can take her home and make sure she's all right. IF that's all right with you?”

“Fine by me,” Rikke began to say, but Maro was still having none of it.

“Look, I can agree access, but my orders are quite clear, if something happens to one Imperial Heir, we increase surveillance of the remaining one,” Maro protested. “I can't just leave her in the Reach, she needs to be in a secure environment where we can protect her!”

“She needs to be with her kin!” Argis growled and Madanach was quite sure his son was going to hit Maro this time, and he was quite sure that this time he'd probably let him. He'd likely have been right too, had one of the upper windows of Castle Dour not creaked open and a child's voice shouted from it.

“OD-AH-VIING!”

It was higher-pitched than Elisif and the sounds got a bit lost in the wind, but it was still definitely a Thu'um... and the Dragon-Lieutenant of Solitude took off from the Blue Palace, soared over the city and hovered outside the window.

“Dovahkiir! What are you doing in there? You were in the Stone City with your kin, weren't you?”

Maia's reply was inaudible but Odahviing's furious response wasn't.

“They did what?? To the child of the Dovahkiin?? They won't live to regret their mistake!”

Which truly did not bode well for anyone, but mercifully Maia's response seemed to calm him down.

“All right, fine, if it pleases you. I suppose I cannot leave you here. Climb on and we shall find you a place of safety. Do not fall off and do not look down.”

Odahviing placed his head on the window ledge, and Madanach felt his heart almost stop as a little red-haired figure in a blue dress scrambled on to the dragon's head, clinging to one of his horns as she perched behind his skull. Then the dragon's wings began beating as Odahviing backed off, gained height, soared into the sky and flew west into the setting sun, taking Princess Maia of Skyrim and the Reach with him.

Stunned silence in the courtyard, and Maro stared wildly at them all, a man on the edge if ever there was one.

“Did you see that?” he demanded. Nods all round, and Argis was definitely smirking and so was Borkul and Serana and all the Reachmen he'd brought with him, and Madanach was hard pressed not to smile himself.

“Was this your doing?” Maro snapped, turning on Madanach. Madanach definitely couldn't suppress the proud smile any longer.

“Oh no. That was all her mother's gifts showing through,” Madanach said, although reacting to unfair imprisonment by escaping in dramatic fashion was a trait little Maia could only have got from him.

“But... what... you can't... you have to do something!” Maro spluttered. “She's the Imperial Heir, you can't just let her ride off on a dragon's back to who knows where!”

“She's her mother's daughter and mine, and a Dragonborn, you were never going to get away with keeping her locked up against her will,” Madanach pointed out. “Anyway, it's too late, she's done it. And had you let either me or Argis in when we asked, she wouldn't have had to.”

“But what do I tell the Emperor and my father?” Maro whispered plaintively.

“You tell them Princess Maia's removed herself from Oculatus custody and dismissed you as her bodyguards, and that Elisif disappeared to pay the price of divine healing for her husband,” Rikke said crisply. “You can also tell them the Reach are as keen to get Elisif back as we are, and that they'll be spearheading the search effort.” Here keen Nord eyes turned on Madanach and suddenly Madanach realised she wasn't quite as on his side as he'd thought. “The Reach will be launching a search effort, won't they?”

“Absolutely,” Madanach promised. “I'll be returning home as soon as I can to talk to the First Matriarch about our options.” That was assuming she'd got anything for him... but Keirine always had something up her sleeve.

“Good,” Rikke said, satisfied. “In the meantime, Solitude will need an interim Jarl. Argis, want the job?”

“What, me?” Argis said, surprised, and Farkas clapped him on the back.

“Can't think of anyone better,” Farkas said cheerfully. “Entire city likes you, Gis. You'll do until Elisif comes back from helping Kyne out.”

Farkas did have a way of putting things in perspective, and Madanach idly wondered if perhaps they were all overthinking things a little. He patted Argis's other shoulder, nodding in agreement.

“Was going to suggest the same thing myself,” he said gruffly, and Argis responded by staring at them both then grinning and putting his arms around them.

“All right, I accept,” Argis announced. “I'll send word out to the other Jarls and tell them – wasn't planning to call a Moot or anything, but I'll tell them we're presently minus a High Queen but the General here can arbitrate disputes between Jarls if need be. Or we can have the other Jarls sit in council over them if it's really serious. Or... look, I'll consider a Moot if there's no option but only on condition Elisif gets the job back on her return.”

“Entirely reasonable,” Rikke nodded. “In that case, I think we can all go about our business, can't we? Madanach, notify me when you've reclaimed Maia, I think we'll all rest a bit easier when she's back with her family where she belongs.” This was said with a pointed look at Maro. “And as for you, Gaius, seeing as one Imperial Heir's gone and the other's pointblank refused your protection, I don't see any reason for the Penitus Oculatus to stay here, do you?”

“What?” Maro whispered faintly. “You mean... go back to Cyrodiil?”

Rikke nodded and turned to Argis for support. Argis smirked and folded his arms.

“By my right as Jarl, you've got a week to get yourselves out of my Hold,” Argis said clearly. “And if I have anything to do with it, you're going nowhere near my sister ever again.”

Maro stared openmouthed before closing it and turning on his heel without another word, heading for the Oculatus quarters in Solitude. Rikke watched him go before turning back to Madanach.

“You'd better be able to find something, Madanach. I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, and I know Elisif all too well, but others will think the same as Maro. Your healing won't convince everyone.”

“I'll find her,” Madanach promised, not wanting to think about what might happen if she never turned up. “Whatever it takes. I'll go myself if I have to.”

Rikke raised an eyebrow. “It might not come to that, I hope. But it might convince people. Right now though, I think you have a five year old to find.”

Didn't he just. So Madanach thanked her and turned to leave with Argis, trying not to think about the task ahead of him. Once out of the castle, Argis wasted no time hugging his father again, a bit more gently this time.

“Didn't think I'd ever see you as you were again,” Argis said roughly. Madanach didn't respond, just holding his son in his arms and wishing this illness of his had never happened... but it was done now, and he had a second chance which was better than a lot of people.

“I'm sorry,” Madanach whispered and Argis rubbed his back.

“It's all right,” Argis said quietly, letting him go. “Were you going after Maia right now or are you staying overnight? You're always welcome at the palace, you know that.”

Staying at the palace – well of course, previous visits had been as the High Queen's consort, he'd shared her bed. Madanach contemplated staying in her room without her and realised he couldn't do it.

“Can I stay in the guest suite?” he said softly. “Not sure it'd be right me sleeping in Elisif's room. I mean, I need to do a kinfinder spell to track down Maia but once it's located her, depending on where she's gone, she'll likely be safe enough and I can head over in the morning. I just... this is my first day conscious, I've been up since three this morning, travelled to Serpent's Bluff and back then here, and my daughter got abducted. I'm... I'm in dire need of a strong drink and some sleep.”

“A drink sounds good to me,” Argis laughed, finally looking happier. “Come on, let's get you fed and rested, and tell Lucia the news, and then you and me can have a drink. Got some of that wine you like.”

Lucia! Madanach had a granddaughter here too, didn't he? Who he would definitely like to catch up with. Yes, an evening in Solitude sounded like just the thing. It would likely be his last peaceful one for some time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, we find out where Maia's fled to, as Princess Maia Dragonborn finds herself on her own for the first time in her life... and it turns out she's got her mother's bravery.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maia's made her escape, but working out where to go next is a problem. Luckily for her, she's not without kin left to flee to, although the kin she chooses is the least equipped to deal with children she has. Fortunately, it's not long before her father finds her, but the prospect of a longer separation taxes all of them...

Maia clung onto Odahviing's horns, eyes shut as the wind whistled through her hair and stung her face and her fingers froze. The pretty dress she'd chosen with Daddy that morning really wasn't intended for dragonriding and it was getting very torn and crumpled. Maia hoped Kaie and Daddy weren't too cross when they saw her again. If they saw her again. Maia's memory of Kaie's heartbroken face as the soldiers had taken her away still hurt to think about. They'd threatened Kaie! Her big sister! Her big sister with an army and Matriarchs and a wife who could punch planks in half. And they'd told her they'd arrest her for treason and have soldiers take over the entire Reach if she didn't hand Maia over.

Maia had cried out in alarm, running at Commander Maro and pleading with him not to hurt Kaie, and Maro had just looked at her and told her to come with them like a good girl and no one would get hurt – they just wanted to keep her safe. So Maia had gone, shooting a sad look back at her sister who looked like she was about to cry. And then the carriage ride to Solitude and Maia had sat huddled on the seat, silent and frightened and desperately wanting her mother. Mama would make everything better. Mama always did. Mama was the most beautifulest and strongest and kindest woman in the whole wide world, and Maia missed her horribly. They said she'd disappeared, but no one knew where. Maro seemed to think the Reach had taken her, but that wasn't true. How could it be? Mama visited Markarth all the time to see Daddy, and although it made her sad, she always went, and Maia always went with her. And the Reachmen were always pleased to see her. Why would they make her disappear? It didn't make sense, and so Maia didn't believe it for a second. But she didn't want Kaie to get in trouble either.

So she'd bided her time and waited until they got to Solitude, all the while hoping Daddy was all right without her and wasn't lonely. What if she wasn't there when he got back? He'd worry! He.... he might get sick again. They said he'd started to get really sick last time after his best friend died. If he didn't know where she was... Maia didn't want to think about it. So she needed an escape plan. An ambitious undertaking for a little girl. But Maia had grown up on stories of Madanach the Liberator who'd broken out of Cidhna Mine, the prison no one apparently escaped from, and although Maia had an idea of prison as a place for criminals, she also knew she hadn't done anything wrong. And when her mother had been arrested but hadn't done anything wrong, Mama had ended up escaping with Daddy, and that had been a good thing, hadn't it? So it didn't occur to little Maia to do anything other than to start planning.

She let them take her to Castle Dour. Too many guards, too many soldiers, and while she could leap off the cart and disappear in the crowds and run to the Blue Palace to find Argis, she didn't want him to get in trouble either. So she bided her time and waited until they took her to one of the bedrooms and left her inside with a bowl of water to wash her face in.

It was a nice bedroom. But it wasn't Maia's, and Maia had a feeling they'd locked the door. But there were no bars on the window. A window which had an excellent view of the Blue Palace... and her good friend and Thu'um teacher Odahviing lounging on the roof.

Odahviing would likely be in trouble for this, but Odahviing could fly away if trouble came his way. He could go live with the Greybeards on the Throat of the World if he had to.

Maia waited for the guards outside to quieten down before tiptoeing over to the window, climbing onto a chair, then the ledge, then seeing if it opened. It did!

One Shout later and Odahviing had taken off, soaring over the city to hover in front of her window, seeming surprised to see her – but when she explained she'd been taken hostage and needed to escape, could he help, he'd been happy to. Even if she had had to talk him out of burning down the entire castle in revenge.

So she'd climbed on, only now she was wishing she had a coat. Nord she might be, but she was only a little girl when all was said and done.

Mercifully, Odahviing had not been flying long before he wheeled over a mountain and came into land on the snowy peak, lowering his head and letting her dismount. This wasn't a lot better, but at least she could shelter under his wing, and his scales were warm. It was something. She still missed Mama though.

At least she did until she heard the Thu'um calling to her from nearby. It was a stone wall carved into the mountain, and Maia could see a word blazing out at her. Heedless of the coffin nearby, Maia ran to have a look, squealing as the last word of Whirlwind Sprint embedded itself in her mind... and then the coffin burst open and an undead horror rose out.

Maia screamed but Odahviing didn't hesitate.

“DREM AAR PRAAN!”

The undead thing closed its eyes and sank back into its grave, the light in its eyes fading as it seemed to rest again.

“Do not fear, mal dovahkiin. Volsung will not rise now. Take his mask, if you will. He has no need of it.”

Maia stood on her tiptoes and gingerly prized the mask off his face, grimacing at desiccated flesh and hollow eyes, and this was horrid... but the mask was magic, she could tell.

It turned out to be a bit big for her, but it would let her breathe under water! And carry more things! And something else to do with coin. Haggling like traders did? Except she never went to the market much and whenever she did, traders would just give her things anyway. They'd give her food or a toy or something and tell her to say nice things to her mama about them. Even Endarie in Radiant Raiment was nicer to her than she was to most people.

Maia supposed she wouldn't be going back to Radiant Raiment for a while. Taking the mask off, she trudged back over to Odahviing.

“Where are we?” she whispered.

“Volskygge, an ancient fain of the Dragon Cult. Dovahkiir, speak up, you are a princess of the joor as well as a Dovahkiin in training, it befits no one to be unable to hear you speak.”

“Sorry,” Maia whispered before realising she was still doing it and straightening up.

“Why are we here?” Maia asked, looking around. “It's very cold. Are there more of those scary monsters?”

“In the temple below, yes, but I did not intend for us to stay here,” Odahviing laughed. “You said you wished to escape but did not tell me where you wished to go. I considered High Hrothgar but it is a long way. I considered Whiterun and your sister there, but the city is not one I enjoy visiting. I considered your other sister, the Sosin-Jud since Maar-Dinok's loss, but it occurs to me your monah left you there in the first place, and yet her kendovve, her Pentaaraan Miinne, have taken you from there. Without her approval, for I know she would either have accompanied you or had you brought to the palace where your zeymah is. So. If not your father's keep in the Hiimsegol, where would you go?”

Not Markarth. It would be the first place they'd look. Not Whiterun either – if Daddy had had to leave in a hurry to find Eola, chances were she wasn't at Jorrvaskr, although Maia would likely be looked after if she did go there. Not High Hrothgar – Maia had heard about it enough, but never been, and from the sound of it, it was rather cold and lonely and no one could talk to her. Also only Nords and Dragonborns were allowed in so Daddy wouldn't be able to find her there.

Maia needed to go somewhere Daddy would think to look for her but the Empire wouldn't, not right away. Somewhere safe, somewhere she could hide. Somewhere with people who would recognise her and look after her.

Maia looked around, surveying the view from Volskygge. Mostly mountains, but she recognised the Throat of the World, and even the College of Winterhold far to the east. And to the south, what looked like another Nord ruin just about visible. Cwm Prendwemyn, Deepwood Vale. Home to Hag's End and its powerful Matriarch, Keirine. A witch better known to Maia as Auntie Keirine, sister to her father. A witch who could open portals anywhere you liked.

“We need to go to Hag's End!” Maia announced. “Matri-ik Keerin's my auntie, she'll help!”

“Ruvaak-Monah Keirine,” Odahviing said thoughtfully. “Yes. She might. It is not far either. Come, mal dovah. Climb on board. Let us find your aunt. If nothing else, she can find you a bed and feed you.”

That prospect couldn't fail to lift Maia's spirits. And so she climbed on to Odahviing's back and clung on tight as Volskygge whirled beneath her and fell behind. Hag's End awaited, and on a dragon's back, it really wasn't far.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Five minutes later and Odahviing was coming in to land by Keirine's altar, cries of alarm from the ReachGuard going up until Odahviing Shouted his own name over the town and the citizens recognised the Dragon-Queen's dragon and calmed down. So it was Odahviing came in to land and lowered his head for Maia to scramble off. 

Maia did so, looking about her at the Nordic Dragon Cult arches and the stone gabled entrance and... the altar with the dead goat on it. Maia stifled a scream as she leapt away, and then the door flew open.

“Odahviing,” a gravelly voice rasped out, a voice sounding like no human should, except Maia knew it somehow. She knew Auntie Keirine, she'd met her loads of times, Auntie would come to see Kaie and talk to the entire Reach Court, and then she'd go in to see Daddy last, and just sit there, holding his hand and not saying much. Maia vaguely remembered spells being cast on him once, but Auntie didn't seem to do that any more. She'd just sit with her brother and talk with him, and listen while he rambled about his younger days and friends he'd known and his own daddy who'd died, and indeed the sister who was now sitting with him but who he didn't recognise any more. Auntie Keirine would always leave looking sombre and sad and older than she went in, and that was when Maia would see her most often. Maia would reach out for a cuddle, and Auntie would look a bit surprised but cuddle her back, a little awkwardly but affectionately enough, and tell her she was a sweet young girl and her parents were lucky to have her. And she always sent birthday presents. Pretty bits of jewellery with enchantments (the pretty silver and sapphire necklace with the frost resistance enchantment that Maia was wearing right now was one of her gifts), or Reachkin books of children's stories, and the odd magical primer. Mama did not always approve of the present choices but never actually took them off her, so Maia supposed it was all right. 

Maia remembered her auntie as an old woman, with silver hair and eyes like hers and Daddy's, usually wearing long black robes and moving a bit awkwardly, thin and a little fragile, but quite healthy. Maia could also tell Auntie Keirine covered herself in illusions, but she couldn't unravel them. Auntie Keirine had always told her lots of old Reachwomen used glamours to hide the signs of ageing, but Auntie's glamours didn't do that at all. Maia had asked why this was, and Auntie had just laughed and told her to keep studying, the day she could unravel a Matriarch's glamours was the day she'd earned the right to know all.

Auntie Keirine had shuffled into view, glamours off, and Maia realised why she needed them. Clawed hands, legs the wrong shape, feet that weren't feet, feathers _growing out of her,_ and malevolent silver eyes glaring out of a face distorted by skin pulled too tight and by jagged, pointy teeth.

Maia took one look and screamed. Keirine's head swivelled and turned to her, and Maia promptly stopped, realising the last thing she wanted was this thing with her auntie's voice to look her way... but it was too late.

“Maia?”

Maia nodded tearfully, trying desperately to remember all the stories she'd read about witches, all of which had been Reachkin ones involving spoilt Nord nobles who'd treated witches badly and ended up suffering luridly horrible fates including having their flesh and bones crafted into furniture or their souls ripped from their bodies and enchanted into talking household objects, or just cooked and eaten.

“Please don't hurt me,” Maia whispered, clutching the phrase close to her like a mantra, whispering it over and over again. “Please please please please....”

“Stop that,” Keirine growled and Maia let out a surprised little whimper but said nothing more, staring terrified at the feathered thing in front of her.

“Ruvaak-Monah,” Odahviing's voice rumbled out, echoing off the mountains and reminding Maia that she might be staring at a terrifying witch, but she also had a big scary dragon at her back. Straightening up, Maia tried not to look quite so scared. 

“Odahviing,” Keirine sighed, glancing up at him. “Why have you brought my niece here, _alone_ and with no _warning?_ Where are her pa- where are her kin? Tell me Kaie did not order this.”

“Maia wished to come,” Odahviing said, shrugging. “I found her a prisoner in the castle in her mother's strunmah. The Pentaaraan Miinne have forgotten their place and taken her from her kin. I would have reminded them of it, but Maia-kiir wished escape first and foremost. So I brought her here, at her request.”

Keirine hissed, feathers ruffling and magicka rising and Maia shrank back, clutching her new Volsung mask and wondering if it would protect her from a Hag's wrath. Keirine's eyes swept back across her and Maia would have started whimpering and pleading again if she thought it would do any good. Instead she just stared back at Keirine... and then she realised Auntie Keirine was staring at the mask, not her.

“Odahviing,” Keirine said calmly. “Why is Maia carrying a dragon priest mask? It is not one I was aware had been unearthed, so she did not take it from one of her kin. Where exactly did you go after leaving Solitude?”

“Volskygge,” Odahviing replied, unperturbed. “There's a Word Wall there, and the grave of a dragon priest who awoke when we arrived. It was a trifling matter to Shout him back to sleep, but I let Maia keep the mask. It is not a terribly powerful one but she seems to like it.”

Keirine gritted her teeth, magicka rising again, glaring furiously at Odahviing, and the dragon just yawned.

“Ruvaak-Monah, do not accuse me of frightening the kiir when you are there with feathers and fangs on show and she is clearly more afraid of you than me. I have never hidden what I am capable of.”

Low growl from Keirine's throat, but her eyes flicked back to Maia, and then something changed subtly in her bearing. She scuttled closer, and then knelt down, feathers fluttering into shape as inhuman eyes softened a little.

“Maia bach. You've come far, and had a hard day, and it's not quite over yet, is it?”

Maia shook her head, not sure what to say, and now Keirine just looked sad.

“Ach, cariad, this is not how I wished you to find out what Matriarchs truly looked like. I was hoping you'd get skilled at magic to break the glamours one day and then you'd be old enough to be told. I never had to worry about this with Madanach's others. Mireen's four grew up on a camp, Argis was pre-warned by his father before he met me, Sofie's barely afraid of anything and Aventus said I was still nicer than Grelod. Whereas your mother refused to let me near her precious little darling without them. Hah, as if I'd harm my own kin. Especially one with a good heart who was always kind to an old woman.”

Keirine's words echoed some of the Reach folk tales Keirine had sent and slowly Maia recalled that alongside spoilt Nord noble children who behaved appallingly and got turned into things for it, there were also frequently little orphan Reach children who had run away from cruel Nord masters, sometimes even accompanying their masters' spoilt offspring on trips because they needed someone to do the work. And the little Reachling orphans would be good-hearted and kind and honourable and properly respectful to old women who lived out in the forests, and when they most needed it, the people they'd helped returned the favour. Including the witch they'd been polite to punishing the Nord children, adopting the little orphan as her own, teaching them magic until one day the Reach-child would be a powerful witch in their own right, or a true Reachman warrior of the wilds.

Slowly it dawned on Maia that she was only half-Nord, and she'd always been kind to this particular witch, who must have missed her brother just as much as Maia had missed her Daddy.

“Auntie?” Maia whispered. “Auntie, I'm scared. And cold. And hungry, and the Pennytus Ocklelatus took me away and were mean to Kaie, and Daddy won't know where I am and he'll worry and he might get sick again and...!”

Keirine had turned her hand around and placed the back of a claw against Maia's lip.

“Hush now,” Keirine said quietly. “It will be all right. I will send word to Kaie, and she can tend to your father. And the Penitus Oculatus will not find you here. I have plenty of ways of hiding you if they come calling. I should have realised they might try for you when your mother vanished.”

Maia let out a little squeak as she realised it was true, it was, Mama was gone and no one knew where, and the person who'd always loved and doted on Maia the most, more than anyone, had disappeared and no one knew where or why and Maia might never see her again and...

Keirine stroked her cheek and smiled.

“Yes, your mother is gone... but we will find her, little one. I was trying to find a way to trace her but with no luck... until you came along. Maia, I think I know what to do now, but I will need your help. It will hurt a bit but it will not harm you. I'll need some of your blood. Also if you do it, I can arrange sweetrolls.”

Sweetrolls were nice but having Mama back would be even better. Maia promptly rolled up her sleeve and held out her arm. Keirine looked a bit surprised and then cackled.

“Bless you, you're a little treasure! Not tonight, small one. You are tired and hungry and that dress has seen its last, I fear. Come, come with me. My steward knows about children, if I can tear her away from her experiments, she can feed you and find you a bed. I am very sure it is past your bedtime by now.”

Maia tried not to yawn but the more she tried to stop, the harder it became and she ended up putting a hand to her mouth to hide it. Keirine smirked and got up.

“Say goodnight to Odahviing, Maia. You can see him in the morning but he can't come in. Odahviing, I imagine you can't go back to Solitude right now, hmm?”

“That would not be wise,” Odahviing agreed. “If you are offering me hospitality here, I would not be averse.”

“I am,” Keirine said. “You can sleep on top of Hag's End if you want. All I ask is avoid that metal tower over there and the tent. It's Steward Liriel's work area. She's trying to measure Nirn or something.”

“Good luck with that,” Odahviing snorted as he took off, settling on the roof itself and preparing to sleep. Maia waved goodnight to him and trotted off after Keirine as she went in search of her steward.

Apart from the distraction of another Word Wall inside, Maia for the most part obediently trotted along after Keirine, trying not to look at various things in jars, which mostly seemed to be preserved animals or bits of animals, often with body parts of other animals growing on them.

“Why has that mouse got three eyes on its back?” Maia whispered, backing away.

“I wished to find out which part of the mouse's secret coding manual for assembling its body coded for eyes,” Keirine said calmly. “Now I know.”

Maia stared at her hands and wondered if she had a secret coding manual for her body parts inside her, and where it was. But she didn't have time to think about it because Keirine was scuttling ahead and Maia had to jog to keep up. Finally, the winding path through Hag's End took her to a dining room where several black-robed witches were eating... apart from one in what looked like Winterhold robes, a red-haired Altmer who was staring intently at a blackboard covered in sums and diagrams.

“Not enough mass,” she muttered. “The calculations all say this value for the mass of Nirn, taking Tamriel, Akavir and Atmora into account, but the measurements are all higher, even when I took ice caps and the remains of Yokuda into account, so what is it? Am I missing something? Is the core not iron after all?? Would a lead one make a difference – no, don't be ridiculous, Liriel, lead's magically inert, we wouldn't even be able to do magic with a lead core.”

“Liriel,” Keirine snapped. “Never mind the core of Nirn, it will still be there in the morning. I need you for something. You have a little sister, do you not?”

Liriel started, before turning to Keirine and bowing.

“Matriarch! Why yes, but why...” Her eyes fell on Maia and widened. “Oh! You've got a human! A tiny human!”

“Yes,” Keirine sighed wearily. “She's a small human. Her name is Maia, she's my brother's little girl, she's turned up here unexpectedly and is in need of a hot meal, warm bath, a change of clothes and then a good night's sleep. Can you arrange all that? Oh, and if anyone other than the Reach Court or Argis of Solitude turns up looking for her, she's not here.”

Liriel nodded, still staring at Maia in surprised delight, before holding out a hand to her.

“Hello, little one!” Liriel breathed. “I don't get to meet many human children! I mean, there's a few in the town but I don't get out that often... It's lovely to meet you, Maia!”

“Hello,” Maia whispered. “Are you a witch too?”

“Yes,” Liriel said. “I mean, sort of. I mean, I do magic, but I'm not a Hagraven like Matriarch Keirine. Goodness, your hands are cold! I'm amazed you don't have frostbite! Come here, sit by the fire, let me get you a nice mug of soup, hold on, let me put a rune down first for you – there you go...”

Maia found herself sitting by a fire with a fire rune at her back and soon some soup materialised too, and another witch had gone off to find a tailor to get her some proper clothes made up, and something nice was cooking too, and Maia then found herself being wrapped in a fur blanket while Liriel inspected her hands and feet for frostbite, apparently satisfied there was no sign of it.

Keirine during all this had retreated to the head of the table, apparently lost in thought and content to let Liriel get on with it.

“I can't believe your parents let you out in all that cold weather with just a dress like that!” Liriel said, fingering the silk sleeve and shaking her head. “I mean, I – I mean your mother or Regent Kaie, I suppose, I know your Daddy's very... ill.”

“I don't know where Mama is,” Maia whispered. “No one does, that's why they took me away and I had to escape. Kaie couldn't stop them.”

Liriel made a soft little noise in the back of her throat and put an arm around Maia, cuddling her, and Maia edged a bit closer, being suddenly reminded of Mama a bit.

“But Auntie Keirine says she's going to try and look for her and I'm going to help in the morning,” Maia continued sleepily. “I need to be brave and strong and let her take some blood, but then she can find Mama!”

Liriel had gasped at this and was now glaring at Keirine.

“You're going to use this little girl's blood in a blood magic rite??” Liriel hissed. Keirine just shrugged.

“That little girl is the only living blood kin Elisif has. The Reach needs Elisif back alive before we are accused of stealing her. Have you got any other ideas?”

Liriel grimaced before sighing.

“No,” Liriel admitted. “All the same, this just doesn't sit right.”

“Be that as it may, we have no choice,” Keirine sighed. “And I will likely need your measurements of Nirn too. Discrepancies aside, it is what we have.”

“Yes Matriarch,” Liriel sighed, looking like she was about to ask something else before glancing back down at Maia and seeming to change her mind.

“We'll find your mama, little one,” Liriel whispered. “Don't be afraid.”

Maia wasn't, not really, not now, well, she was a bit nervous about the blood-giving part, but people donated blood at the Understone Clinic all the time and they didn't die. They even got tea and cake after and a chance to put their feet up, plus some gold coins for their trouble. Quite a few Markarthians turned up on a regular basis for the free cakes alone – Maia would see plenty of familiar faces when she helped out and took cakes to donors afterwards. Children were not normally allowed to donate, but Maia supposed if Keirine only needed a bit, it would be all right. But she did miss Mama, and she didn't want to think about what happened if Mama never came home. She definitely didn't want to think about Daddy getting upset and getting ill again.

“Is Daddy coming?” Maia whispered. “Please, you have to tell him I'm all right, he'll be worried!”

“I will have Kaie tell him, but you know there's no guarantee he'll understand – wait.” Keirine had sat up, staring at Maia suddenly. “The way you said that – it was as if you genuinely thought there was a chance he might come himself.”

“He will if he knows I'm here!” Maia said, hoping she was right about this – but he would, surely? He went out to rescue Eola when the Oculatus took her, and Eola was a powerful witch in her own right. He'd surely come to find his littlest daughter. “He wasn't there when the soldiers came for me. They'd kidnapped Eola as well so Kaie sent him out to find her. But then they came for me after he'd gone. He won't know where I am when he comes back!”

Liriel and Keirine were both staring at her in amazement and the other witches had fallen silent as well, all listening intently.

“Matriarch, I thought you said he was bed-bound,” Liriel said, confused. Keirine nodded, a very strange expression on her face. It looked like she was about to cry but it really didn't look right on a hag's face.

“He was,” Keirine breathed. “Maia, child, are you telling me he got up and walked? Are you telling me he was strong enough to ride out after Eola?”

Maia nodded, not having heard many of the details, but Auntie had to know Mama had done the ritual to Kyne in the first place to heal Daddy, right?

“A powerful witch appeared in his room and healed him,” Maia said, confused. “It was after Mama did the ritual. Now he's better and strong again, and he brushed my hair and helped me get dressed and we were going to have breakfast and go for a walk and have a picnic... but then he had to go and rescue Eola and I wasn't allowed to come.”

It did briefly occur to Maia that if she had been, she'd be with him now and the Oculatus wouldn't have got her, but she couldn't think about that right now. She'd just have to make sure Daddy didn't leave her behind again, that was all. She was sure going with him wouldn't be as scary as not having him there.

“Matriarch?” Liriel was saying, sounding very concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Keirine managed to say. “Yes, I – I will be. I just need some time alone – Liriel, tell the guards to expect a rejuvenated Madanach Saoirseach to be arriving some time tomorrow and to send him straight here when he does. And – and tell the citizens we're having a public holiday to give thanks for the return of the Reach-King.” With that, Keirine got up and hastily shuffled off, wiping her eyes as she did so.

“Will do, Matriarch,” Liriel whispered, still cuddling Maia, who was now feeling a bit guilty over ever having said anything.

“Am I in trouble?” Maia whispered, and Liriel shook her head.

“No, I don't think so,” Liriel said, frowning. “I didn't think I would ever see Matriarch Keirine get emotional over anything that wasn't to do with her experiments, that's all. But don't you worry, little one, she'll be all right. Now, let's get you fed and put to bed. Need to have you happy and rested for when your daddy turns up tomorrow, don't we?”

That sounded like a good idea as far as Maia was concerned. So she happily tucked into dinner and then let Liriel bathe her and tuck her into a spare bed, and tell her a story about a little elven princess and a frog, and if Maia dozed off before the end, Liriel didn't hold it against her at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Madanach of course had done a kinfinder spell as soon as privacy allowed, and seen Maia's thread lead to the same place Keirine's was in, and promptly relaxed. Keirine'd keep Maia safe enough, although that did lead him to wonder what Maia would think of Hag's End, which was a whole other worry. But Argis talked him out of running after her, and Madanach was too exhausted to argue. 

And so it was a guest suite for Madanach, which was for the best because when he did slip into Elisif's room out of curiosity, he saw a room much as it was when he'd left, but with the addition of a little girl's bed behind a screen, a little dresser and wardrobe with more of Maia's things, and a little bookshelf and box of toys, all painted in bright colours with birds and flowers decorating them. That Maia didn't have her own room was a surprise but Argis explained Maia got lonely at night and slept better near her mother. Madanach suspected that might be the case, but Elisif wouldn't have assented to this if Maia had been the only one who got lonely. But what really got to him were the childish drawings pinned up near both beds – pictures of a little redhaired figure with a redhaired woman in armour and a sword on one side of her and a silver-haired man with fire at his fingers on the other, labelled Me, Mama and Daddy respectively, with a little dragon flying in the background and what looked like the Solitude arch behind them. Pictures of the family Maia wished she had, and not all the other pictures of her various siblings with their spouses that were also pinned up could take away from the fact that what Maia wanted most was Mama holding one hand and Daddy the other.

It was a cruel, cruel irony that as soon as Maia got one parent back, the other vanished. Madanach quietly put the pictures back and left, seeing what looked like blotches of water on one of them already and deciding he wasn't adding to it. Looked like Elisif had cried over them at least once herself... but she'd not told Maia to stop. Madanach found himself wondering what Elisif was like as a mother, and how she and Maia interacted, and what Maia's feelings about her mother were. He could probably guess most of it, but he wanted to _see_ it, experience it firsthand, watch Elisif playing with Maia, and Maia running up to her mother for a cuddle or to show off something she'd drawn. He'd lost so much and it wasn't fair, it just wasn't.

It was probably worse for Maia though. But he'd see his girl again soon. In the morning hopefully. In the meantime, he went to find Argis and take him up on that offer of a drink. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Next day brought an early rise, early departure, a slightly emotional goodbye to Argis and Lucia and even Farkas, who as son-in-laws went, was actually all right for a Nord warrior, and then back to the emergency portal for the trip to Hag's End's public portal.

To his surprise, the guards all saluted without hesitation, all cheerfully standing to attention and calling out 'Welcome back, sir! All Hail the Reach-King!'

“They're expecting you, boss,” Borkul noted as he followed Madanach into the Redoubt. “Maia's definitely here then.”

Almost certainly, and things got even stranger as they emerged into the town to find bunting going up and a party in preparation, and yet more cheers of “Glory to the Forsworn! All Hail the Liberator!” as he went past, and it looked like a few of the townsfolk had got started on the booze already. Keirine had ordered a holiday from the look of it.

Madanach saluted them back and made for Hag's End itself, the guards holding the doors open for him without even questioning his right to be there, and Keirine's witches all making themselves scarce as he entered, apart from one who bowed, welcomed him and showed him to Keirine's work room. 

Keirine herself was holding a vial of blood up, casting what looked like a kinfinding spell on it, and over to one side, a red-haired elf had her arm around a pale-faced little girl in a fur Forsworn parka and leggings who was tucking cheerfully into a sweetroll while watching Keirine. Or at least she was until she noticed him walk in.

“DADDY!” Maia squealed, putting her half-eaten cake to one side and jumping off the bench to run and cuddle him... or she did until she'd taken two steps, swayed a bit and promptly sat down again, reaching for the cup of juice on the little table next to her.

“Sit and rest, little one, you need time to recover,” the elf gently told her before glancing in his direction. “Sir, the Matriarch's very busy, can I help – ohhh! You're him! King Madanach!”

Quite honestly, it was a very good thing he was safely married, because this elf was dangerously pretty. She looked vaguely familiar too, and he must have seen her before. Only he might have been half-senile at the time, and that had a way of putting a damper on things.

“That I am,” Madanach grinned as he strode over, promptly kneeling before them both and holding out his arms to Maia. “And here is my little Maia Dragon-Rider!”

Maia promptly blushed and tried to hide behind her Altmer caretaker but alas there wasn't really enough room.

“Maia!” the elf scolded gently. “That's no way to greet your father. He's come a long way to see you!”

Maia peeked out nervously. “Am I in trouble?” Maia whispered, looking frankly petrified. Madanach shook his head, relief making him carefree for once.

“Not with me, that was amazing!” Madanach laughed. “You should have seen Maro's face, it was hilarious. He'd gone to all that trouble to try and keep you safe, and you skip out from under his nose on a dragon's back. Dear gods, they'll be talking about that in Solitude for years. Argis is getting the bards to write something as we speak.”

“Daddy!” Maia wailed, mortified. “I don't want everyone knowing!”

“Well perhaps you should have thought of that before riding off on a dragon in the middle of Solitude,” Madanach told her. “As it is, it's a little late to cover that up, so the Nords are writing a saga about it instead. Congratulations, you're the youngest Nord ever to get an honour-name.”

Maia whimpered and looked pitifully up at the elf, who was clearly trying not to laugh.

“Darling, you're a princess and a Nord, you're supposed to have a heroic reputation among your people,” the elf said primly. “When you are older, you will look back and appreciate it. Now, go and cuddle your father and say hello properly.”

Maia pouted but did as told, sliding off the bench and giving Madanach a cuddle. Madanach held her close, relieved just to have her back. His little girl, back in his arms and safe, and he wasn't letting her go again if he could help it.

“Are you all right,” he murmured as he held her. “I was worried about you.”

Maia nodded and snuggled into his arms.

“Are you all right, Daddy?” she whispered. “You weren't lonely?”

Madanach tightened his grip and ruffled her hair, kissing her forehead and wishing she'd not had to grow up so quickly. She shouldn't be worrying about her parents being lonely.

“Didn't have time, was too busy chasing halfway across Skyrim then arguing with overpaid Imperial officers,” Madanach said gruffly. “Then once you'd absconded on Odahviing and saved me the bother of demanding custody or else, your brother Argis let me stay at the palace and provided me with drinks and company for the evening.”

Maia did smile at that.

“Argis is a nice man!” she announced. “And Lucia's nice too and so's Uncle Farkas! I miss them.”

“They miss you too,” Madanach told her. “But when this is all done, we'll go visit them, promise. And now, young lady, I don't believe you've introduced me to your new friend.”

He sat back, smiling at the elf, who'd gone a fetching shade of scarlet, and while he had no intention of being unfaithful to Elisif, teasing a pretty young thing who was clearly a bit nervous around him was always entertaining.

“This is Liriel,” Maia chirped, oblivious to all of that. “She's really nice! She looked after me last night and this morning and got me some new clothes and gave me a bath and fed me and told me a story! There was a princess and a frog and a witch and a golden ball... but I don't remember the end.” Maia looked very disappointed at this, and Liriel to her credit leaned forward and patted her on the back gently.

“Because you were very tired and fell asleep, da'linna,” Liriel soothed. “But I can have my parents send a copy of the book it came from for you so you can read it yourself. Or your father could read it to you.”

“Be happy to,” Madanach murmured. Once he'd read the stories himself first to ensure there weren't any about evil or stupid humans suffering, and bright little elven children effortlessly triumphing over the lesser races, of course. He wasn't blind to the propaganda value of fairy tales – the fact that Reachman fairy tales almost all treated Maia's own mother's people the same way Aldmeri stories did humans never really occurred to him as a problem.

A sudden silence had fallen over the room and Liriel glanced up and immediately got to her feet.

“Matriarch?” Liriel asked, all embarrassment gone as Keirine's presence brought out her professional persona. Maia likewise turned hopefully to her aunt, apparently unbothered by the lack of glamours. Well, that was one discussion Madanach no longer needed to have anyway.

“Did you find her?” Maia cried. “Do you know where Mama is?”

“Not yet, not exactly. But I know where to look,” Keirine's voice rasped out, sending shivers down Madanach's back as he got to his feet and turned to face his sister. A pause and then she spoke again. “Brother. It has been a long time.”

Madanach looked at his sister, emerging from the shadows of the brazier-lit stone room, not an illusion to spare and yet there was something off, something unusual. He'd had seconds to process the fact he'd not seen her look that emotional in years before she hugged him.

“Keir?” Madanach managed to get out, awkwardly patting her back and hoping he wasn't damaging any feathers. “Are you all right?”

“She healed you,” Keirine said, voice muffled. “Asha'bellanar came out of the Void itself at our call and took Elisif away to serve her... but she healed you. She gave you back to us.”

“Yeah,” Madanach said quietly, remembering an inhuman smile, reptilian eyes, power to make even a Hag nervous... but not evil, not exactly. Just unpredictable and with her own agenda, an agenda that apparently required his wife's assistance. But she'd kept her word in return and here he was, whole again. “The Southern Dragon. And I called her all sorts of things and told her to get away from my kids.”

Weary sigh from Keirine. “Only you would respond to healing from the Woman of Many Years herself with back talk, smart remarks and threats to disembowel her.” Keirine let him go and stepped back, turning away and wiping her eyes. “Well now, this is unexpected. I had thought this would be a simple search and rescue mission, but the fact that a bargain was struck and a price paid means we cannot just retrieve her and bring her back.”

“We can't?” Madanach asked, frowning. “I mean, we can do that?”

“But you said we'd find her, you promised!” Maia cried. “That's why you needed my blood, so you could track her, you said!”

“Blood?” Madanach said, slow anger starting to rise as he realised just what was in that phylactery she was holding and why Maia had seemed so wobbly on her feet. “You took my daughter's blood?”

“With her consent, yes,” Keirine snapped. “I had to do a kinfinder spell, she's the only living kin Elisif has. I assumed the Reach would want Elisif found? If you have any better ideas, I would love to hear them.”

“We're bound, remember?” Madanach shouted. “I can feel her!”

“I know, but did not know you'd been healed until Maia told me,” Keirine threw back at him. “Even so, the point still stands – the kinfinder's given me some surprising results which I'll need to check with Liriel's scaled globe of Nirn, and your empathy bond would not, I think, have duplicated them. Tell me, where is it telling you she is?”

Madanach closed his eyes and concentrated. Far away, very far away, underground and far away, far far below his feet and the actual direction hadn't varied much whether he'd been here, Markarth, Solitude or Serpent's Bluff. Always the same way. Down. It made no sense and he told Keirine all this. Keirine just cackled to hear it.

“On the contrary, brother, it makes perfect sense! It tallies exactly with the kinfinder. She's on Nirn still... the other side of Nirn! She seems deep underground because there is an entire world between us! And of course the direction hasn't changed, at this distance it wouldn't seem to. Run a straight line from the Reach through the entire planet and you get approximately where she is.”

“Because the world is round... Sithis, of course it is,” Madanach sighed. Slowly he looked down and began to wonder just how long they'd have to travel to find the Other Side of Nirn. A long time, he imagined. Could humans even survive that long at sea? It was already well known that humans deprived of fresh fruit got sick very quickly. How to get round _that problem?_ Preserved fruit might work, he supposed. Keirine'd need to run tests. 

“But is there even any land down there?” Liriel gasped, already processing the implications. “We don't even know of any continents that far away... oh. Oh, of course, that's why my calculations were out! There's another continent down there, one we don't know about and that's why Nirn seems heavier than it should be! Auriel's eyes, excuse me, I've got calculations to amend. Er, if you'll excuse me, Matriarch?”

“You're excused,” Keirine said, amused. “If you can work out how big the continent needs to be to make it all align with the data, I'd appreciate it.”

“Will do, Matriarch!” Liriel laughed as she sprinted back to her work. Madanach glanced after her as she dashed out in what he hoped was a subtle and understated way – alas for him, he'd very much overestimated this, as was proved when his sister smacked his shoulder.

“Stop eyeing up my steward,” Keirine growled. “She's competent, organised, bright, and her letters home to the Dominion give the impression she's revealing key information while at the same time telling them very little they don't already know. I will _not_ have to send her home to avoid a scandal on your part, am I clear?”

“I wouldn't have done anything!” Madanach protested. “She just seems nice, that's all!”

“She can be,” Keirine said cryptically. “And sometimes she is quite the opposite. Either way, you are not upsetting my staff, brother.”

“Yes Keirine,” Madanach sighed, guessing he'd lost this one. “So. My wife. The mother of my little girl. On the other side of the planet on some unknown continent thanks to the Southern Dragon. How do we get her back?” 

“With difficulty,” Keirine said, growing sombre. “As I said, this is no longer a search and rescue mission. Yes, we need to locate her if only to persuade the Empire that their precious heir isn't dead at our hands. But this was no abduction. This was a bargain. Elisif petitioned Asha'bellanar for her aid in healing you, and in return agreed to go with her and help her with some unspecified service. Elisif has gone and you are healed, but if we find her and bring her back before she's finished the task the Old Woman needs doing...”

“What are you saying, she'll reverse the healing??” Madanach gasped, feeling cold dread gripping his heart even as Maia cried out and clutched at his hand. Madanach knelt down and cuddled his little girl but his eyes never left Keirine, who nodded grimly.

“I fear she might, yes. Or do something worse. Either way, it is not a good idea to cheat the Old Woman.” Then Keirine began to grin, and Madanach recollected that Matriarch Keirine had been bargaining with spirits, demons, daedra and otherworldly entities for years and never come out the worse for it yet. His sister surely had something in in mind.

“But there was nothing stated in the bargain that Elisif had to do it alone,” Keirine purred. “This service must be rendered but there is no reason we cannot trace Elisif and then send a small search party after her to see if she's in need. Why, if we lean on the right people in the Legion, we might even get an Imperial expedition organised – but that will take weeks, if not months, merely to organise, and the journey by sea would be longer. However, I can contact spirits, do some scrying, see what I can dig up, see about finding weak points in the Veil to create a portal in. I will not pretend it is not risky, but it is feasible. And once we have people other than Elisif there with known kin back here in the Reach, kinfinders become possible and tracking them becomes easy. Or we just create phylacteries here with their own blood before they go, it is not difficult.”

“We can find her! Find Mama!” Maia squealed, bouncing up and down next to Madanach. “And then we help her and then we all go home!”

An enticing prospect indeed, even if Maia did seem to be getting a bit carried away. Madanach cuddled her, smiling even as he braced himself to deliver the crushing news that whoever went on this dangerous mission, she wouldn't be going.

“You're not going, cariad,” he told her. “We're staying here. We'll send scouts ahead first.”

Maia's face fell, but that was as nothing compared to the blow Keirine promptly delivered.

“Actually, brother, you were the first name to come to mind as the one to lead the party,” Keirine said quietly. Madanach had to run that through his mind a couple of time before it really sank in.

“Are you out of your mind,” Madanach said quietly as he got to his feet, glaring at his sister. “I'm king of the Reach! I've got responsibilities! A throne to take over! I'm supposed to just leave Maia behind and risk everything searching for Elisif??”

“Responsibilities??” Keirine hissed, feathers ruffling as talons flexed in the shadows of the great cavern. “You've been an invalid for the past three years, only recently risen from your sickbed, Kaie has been running the country! She still is, or has the Regency been lifted without me, hmm?”

Clearly not, and they both knew that. And Keirine wasn't even done yet.

“We need to persuade the Empire that not only did we not lose their Heir, but that we're taking the loss seriously,” Keirine continued. “Which means sending our best. You're our best. I don't believe there's anyone in the Reach who wants Elisif back more than you, no one more motivated to find her. And you have your empathy bond. I believe you can find her once you're over there, better than anyone else.”

Madanach wanted to argue, he really did. He couldn't just abandon his kingdom... but Keirine was right that it had done quite well without him these past few years. It could likely manage without him for now. Truth be told, he felt a little restless. He could do with an adventure. And seeing Elisif again, being able to _do_ something to find her rather than sit in Markarth waiting for news and going crazy in the meantime – Madanach had to admit his sister knew him well, and knew he'd be far better suited to taking an active role in this one. Besides, hadn't Rikke sternly told him to spearhead the search mission? What better way to prove he was taking this seriously than to go personally? There was really only one thing stopping him agreeing, namely the bouncing ball of excitement by his side.

“Mama, Mama, we're going to find Mama!” Maia was chanting, dancing next to him and waving her arms in the air, apparently quite cheerful now. “When are we leaving, Daddy?”

“Maia, you are not coming,” Madanach sighed. “You're staying in the Reach with your sister.”

He'd expected the immediate cessation of happy, bouncy excitement and the imminent appearance of pouting and sniffling, and possibly even actual tears. What he had not anticipated was a high-pitched scream and then Maia flinging herself at him, actually howling.

“NO NO DADDY YOU CAN'T! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME, YOU CAN'T YOU CAN'T!”

Madanach tried his best to console her, he really did. And had she had a normal-ish childhood, and had he been a fully present figure in said childhood, and even then, if she'd not been traumatically taken from Markarth only the day before, it all might have worked. Alas, none of this was the case, and so Maia descended into a full-blown shrieking meltdown that had half of Hag's End peeking down the corridor wondering what on earth was going on down there.

Predictably Keirine was no help at all, just rolling her eyes and watching like it was entirely his problem his daughter was presently rolling on the ground sobbing her heart out and clinging to his leg wailing incoherently not to leave her. Were it not for the rapidly developing headache, it was almost touching to see the level of attachment she'd formed to him. But there was nothing he could do about any of this. He had to find Elisif, and he could hardly take his five year old with him.

“Maia, Maia cariad, it's too dangerous for little girls, even dragon riders. You can't go with me,” Madanach sighed. “Maia for the love of Mara, you will be fine here.”

“NOOOOOO!!!!” Maia howled. “NO I WON'T, THE OCKLELATUS WILL TAKE ME AWAY AGAIN, YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME, YOU CAN'T YOU CAN'T!!!”

“Maia, will you just...?” Madanach growled, this close to losing his patience and just picking her up and carrying her out to... there must be a quiet room he could shut her in until she'd calmed down, right?

“Maia. Stop that.” Keirine's voice cut across the room, sharp and cold, and to Madanach's astonishment, Maia subsided, still sniffling and curled up on the floor, but no longer actually screaming which was a blessed, blessed relief.

“How in the Void did you just do that?” Madanach whispered, ears still ringing, and just how did his childless, spinster sister get kids to stop crying just by snapping at them?

“Feed a child enough stories about terrifying witches who turn children into animals or sentient household appliances, they don't give you much trouble,” Keirine shrugged. “Histrionics aside though, the child is quite correct. Maybe the Oculatus have backed away for now – they cannot enforce protection on the unwilling – but they will have to report back to the Ruby Throne. What do you think the Emperor's reaction will be, hmm? Or the Elder Council? Titus Mede is not a young man, he could die any moment. If they decide to order Maia brought to Cyrodiil, we could not stop them. We cannot spare Kaie or Argis to go with them, and you won't be there. I'm not entirely sure that Eola, bright though she is, is up to dealing with Imperial politics either, and she'd likely want to take her children with her, which I cannot see Kaie agreeing to. Maia would be alone in a strange city, friendless, lonely, a pawn for every faction in Cyrodiil to manipulate... until of course someone got tired of manipulations and assassinated her.”

Maia whimpered, clinging on to Madanach in terror, and Madanach drew her into his arms, not wanting to think about any of this, but now Keirine said it, he could see it happening all too clearly. Gaius Maro would back down before Rikke, but if he reported back to his father and the Elder Council, and they arrived with a writ from the Emperor, the Legion could do nothing and even the Jarls of Skyrim would be helpless, unless they seceded from the Empire... and few Jarls had the stomach for a rebellion.

Madanach knew the Reach would rise if he ordered it... but they'd just got free, just got what they'd always wanted, and he knew he couldn't ask it of them to throw it all away, even for Maia's sake.

“What do you suggest?” Madanach said quietly, somehow knowing where this was going.

“Easy,” Keirine smirked. “Do as the child asks. Take her with you. You left her behind once and she got snatched from home, and now she's terrified of you leaving her again. The Empire may make demands but we cannot hand over what we don't have, and perhaps she might not have reacted so badly if Imperial forces had not traumatised her in the first place. Madanach, you're her father, Elisif's will states you or your kin are to have custody of Maia if anything happens to her. You've not been ordered not to take Maia from the Empire, not yet. So take her away before the order arrives. When you finally return with Maia, Elisif will be with you with sufficient authority to countermand any attempts to arrest you, and she's the High Queen of Skyrim. She can rally the Jarls like no one else, and I believe most would follow her lead. Enough to make any threat to secede a real one.”

It... actually wasn't a bad plan. Apart from the taking Maia into potentially mortal danger bit, but she wasn't safe if he left her behind, at least if she was with him, he could protect her personally. Madanach had every confidence in his abilities there. Also it occurred to him that a small group of strangers might attract negative attention or be considered a threat... but a small family group with a child might well be considered harmless and allowed to pass unmolested. It did make a good cover story – likely things were not stable wherever Elisif had gone, which likely meant conflict, which always meant refugees and separated families. Very easy indeed to pose as one such family desperately seeking their wife and mother. That, and it occurred to Madanach that little Maia had very little experience of life without a constant entourage of servants and guards, of what it was like not to live in a big keep or fancy palace, in a city where everyone was nice to you because they had to be or your parents' guards would be down on them hard. It occurred to Madanach that Maia might benefit from getting out of the gilded cage of royal childhood and just being a little girl for once.

He had a feeling he might regret this but he looked at Maia's shining face, happy and hopeful as she gazed up at him, and he realised he couldn't say no.

“It's not the worst idea you've ever had,” he admitted, somewhat grudgingly but Keirine's delighted grin had a way of making him surly. “Fine. Maia, looks like you're coming along.”

“YES!” Maia squealed, flinging herself on to him and cuddling him tight. “I'll be good, I promise!”

“You'd better be,” Madanach said firmly. “Because I have no idea what we'll be facing, chances are it'll be dangerous, and that means you need to stay close to me, do what you're told, and not argue back or throw tantrums, right? I'm not Reach-King over there and you won't be a princess, and we won't have the ReachGuard or the Matriarchs at our backs.”

Maia had gone quiet but she nodded solemnly.

“Can't we take a few ReachGuards with us?” Maia whispered. “Or Auntie Keirine?”

Cackle from Keirine, who was shaking her head with a smile.

“Cariad, I would attract the wrong kind of attention. If my illusions were to fail or be broken, it would not go well for any of us. Also I'm needed here – someone has to track you both from the Reach after all. That said, I don't think it should be just the two of you. You'll need help. I would not send Eola to deal with Imperial politics but I think she will be very helpful with regards to pioneering exploration. Of course, she'll probably insist on bringing Cicero. Or he will insist on coming. Just take heart from the fact neither will want to take their children into the complete unknown.”

Eola's presence would be a joy and a delight. Cicero's... gods help them all. How long would it be before he wanted to push his son-in-law off a cliff, he wondered. All the same, Argis and Borkul both had been of the opinion Cicero wasn't quite as manic as he used to be. Madness burning itself out with age? Parenthood forcing responsibility on the man? Madanach didn't know but a somewhat less exuberant Cicero would be a welcome change. 

He just hoped they were successful. If they ran into trouble, or if they couldn't find Elisif or if the portal trip into the unknown went horribly wrong... The only consoling thought there was that he and Maia wouldn't be around to see the outcome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

And so the preparations began. Potions were brewed, supplies arranged, rations set aside, a whole set of Forsworn camping gear prepared. Kaie arrived with Borgakh, Athis, Cicero and Eola plus twins the day after Madanach had, and her first action was to cuddle Maia and whisper how sorry she was, was she all right? Maia had nodded and cuddled her back, apparently forgiving her sister for letting her get taken. And then Kaie had produced Frogella, who'd been left behind at Understone Keep in all the confusion, and Maia's squeals had given all present a headache as she'd seized on her little frog friend and cuddled the toy, apparently more pleased to see it again than all the adults present.

“Should I be offended?” Kaie asked, amused.

“Hardly, that's kids for you, but all the same, Maia could at least show some acknowledgement – hey, Maia!” Madanach shouted. 

Maia stopped in her tracks, having been about to scamper off with Frogella, but she turned to see what her father wanted.

“Are you going to say thank you to Kaie for bringing Frogella then?” Madanach said, and Maia paused, went a bit pink as she recalled yes, saying thank you was important, and forgetting to say it in all the excitement was one thing but actually refusing would be very bad.

“Thank you for bringing Frogella, Kaie!” Maia chirped, dropping a curtsey. 

“You're welcome, pixie-girl,” Kaie grinned back, and Maia beamed before running off to find the twins. Kaie smiled as she watched Maia go then turned back to Madanach, face falling.

“So we got her back this time, but now what? And has Keirine been able to track down Elisif? We need her, Da. We've got enemies, and without her speaking up for us, there could be a crusade against Daedra-worshippers organising to bring us down before we know it.”

“Don't be so sure about that,” Madanach told her, taking Kaie's arm in his as he led her from Deepwood's public square back to Hag's End itself. “Jarl Balgruuf supports us, and Rikke's on our side as long as we're seen to be searching for Elisif. She also appointed Argis as interim Jarl of Solitude before I had to suggest it. Skyrim's worried but not blaming us, not yet. Wasn't like Elisif had kept the ritual quiet, she'd spent months talking about it. But I don't know how Cyrodiil will react.”

“Likely not well,” Kaie sighed. “Some in the Oculatus already think we used this to get rid of Elisif. Some in Skyrim probably think it. We could be in a lot of trouble if we can't find her, Da. Has Keirine got anywhere?”

Madanach could lay her worries to rest on that score… sort of.

“Yes. Only the results are… unexpected. Come on, you'll like this.”

Kaie raised an eyebrow but indicated for Madanach to say more. Madanach just smiled and led her through the entrance hall into the main dining area, now home to an illusion projection of the whole of Nirn... and on the other side of the planet from Tamriel, occupying a big chunk of the southern hemisphere, was a vague landmass approximately two-thirds the size of Tamriel. Liriel was there, staring at it intently and carefully moving said landmass around, finally settling a chunk of it around the South Pole of Nirn and the rest reaching up towards the tropics.

“Hey Liriel,” Madanach called over. “Kaie's here! Kaie, you've met Liriel before, right? Keirine's steward.”

“Of course we've met,” Kaie said, amused and a little exasperated, and as Liriel brightened up on seeing Kaie, beckoning her over to show her the Tir Nua they'd worked out must exist, Madanach was once again reminded that what seemed new to him was utterly familiar to Kaie and indeed everyone else. The Reach had moved on without him, and how was he supposed to go back to being its king after this?

Madanach felt a wave of longing for Elisif, an almost childlike feeling of wanting someone to just put their arms around him and tell him it was all going to be all right. Few people could really do that for him, and Elisif was his first choice, every time. But she wasn't here, was she?

“Are you telling me there's a whole other continent we know nothing about, and Elisif was taken there?” Kaie had gasped as Liriel had filled her in on the details.

“Afraid so,” Liriel confirmed. “But don't worry, Matriarch Keirine's been scrying non-stop and thinks she can send a small search party out there to find her.”

“Hope so,” Kaie said softly. She was, however, seemingly enthralled by the new continent. “Is that really what it looks like?”

“No, it's a guess on size and position based on weather modelling and measurements of Nirn's gravitational pull,” Liriel explained. “Actual coastline could be anything. We know it'll be warm in the north and cold in the south, and we think the moons will look upside down and the stars will look different… but the actual landscape, we don't know about.”

“Think we could colonise it?” Kaie asked, fascinated. Liriel raised both eyebrows and glanced at Madanach for a response on that one. Madanach couldn't think of a worse idea.

“No!” he snapped. “I mean, no, there's likely people living there already. They're not going to just let us move in, and they're not going to give us the good land if they do. We're not conquering them either. The plan is to just go there, scout the land, find Elisif, help her out with whatever task the Southern Dragon wants doing, and then we all go home.”

The rather sceptical look on Kaie's face told him she wasn't in agreement, or at least wasn't sure it would be anything like that simple, and of course it wasn't. It was never that simple. But Madanach had never been one to back down from a challenge, and quite honestly he was feeling a bit like a fish out of water in his own country anyway. Might as well have that feeling somewhere he really was a foreigner.

Also Elisif was there. He'd be all right once he had his wife back.

“You said we,” Kaie said, frowning. “Wait. You're not going, are you?”

Madanach stared firmly back at her, determined. 

“Yes,” he said, arms folded as he stared her down. “Yes, I am going. Don't give me that look, inyeen. I am perfectly healthy, I've got an empathy bond with Elisif, I can find her. You have everything well in hand in here, it's not like you need me, is it? You want the Empire to think we're taking this seriously? Send me.”

“You only just got out of your sick bed!” Kaie protested. “What about your meds??”

“I haven't needed any,” Madanach growled. “And Keirine had her healers check me over, they say I'm in fantastic shape. I've got the vital signs and muscle tone of a man thirty years younger, they tell me.”

“I'll be sure to read the report,” Kaie purred, clearly disbelieving. “Have you told Maia yet? She was sad enough when you rode out after Eola. She was worried about you. She is not going to like the idea of you disappearing for months.”

And here was the controversial bit.

“She's coming with me,” Madanach said, hoping this went down better with the oldest daughter than Maia's reaction to him leaving her. Kaie didn't exactly throw a meltdown but the horrified stare wasn't a lot better.

“You're _what?_ ” Kaie cried. “Da, she's _five!_ You can't take her to some strange continent filled with Daedra know what! What if something happens to her?”

“I left her behind and something did!” Madanach snapped. “The Empire took my daughter into custody once, I'm not risking it happening again. She wants to go, Kaie, she doesn't want me to leave her. Kaie, please, I'm her father!”

“I know,” Kaie said, sympathetic but heartbreak in her eyes, the heartbreak of a leader who was about to have to make some very tough decisions, Madanach could tell and while he had a feeling this wasn't going to be pleasant, he felt nothing but pride for Kaie, who was turning into a true Queen of the Reach. She was probably a better ruler than he was.

“You don't have to do this,” Kaie was saying. “We can send Eola instead, and I think we might be able to hire some Companions as well. You and Maia can stay here, I can step down and let you be King again, you'll have the political clout to do whatever you have to to keep her safe...”

“And if the Emperor or Elder Council insist on taking her into custody, I will either have to hand her over or have my country invaded,” Madanach snapped. “I am not going through all that again. Not after all this. I'm taking her away where they can't get her. I'm going to find her mother. I'm finding Elisif and then we're coming back and Elisif can tell them all to get bent with absolute impunity because people just love her like that and… Kaie, stop that, I'm not choosing between Maia and the Reach, don't make me do it.”

Kaie was massaging her forehead, face screwed up as she looked away, blue hair falling in front of her face and Madanach fell silent, wanting to hold her too, but having absolutely no idea if she'd want that, and dammit when had these things got so complicated??

“Da, if you do this, I can't support you,” Kaie whispered. “You do this, I have no option but to cut you loose. If you take Maia out of the Empire, you do it as a private citizen, and you better hope you can find Elisif, because she's probably the only one who could talk the Empire down from executing you.”

Kaie looked genuinely distressed and Madanach felt his heart go out to her, but surprisingly, he wasn't feeling upset himself. Of course he'd find Elisif. He'd take Maia with him and they'd find her together, and Maia would have her mother while he'd have the love of his life back in his arms. The love of his life who'd never given up on him from the sounds of it. 

_You went to all that trouble to save me, least I can do is return the favour._

Madanach got up, located some paper, quill and ink and sat down to write, ignoring Kaie and a rather awkward-looking Liriel who'd retreated to the side of the room, watching intently.

“What are you doing,” Kaie whispered, wiping a tear away as she came to sit next to him.

“Abdicating, what do you think,” Madanach said roughly, writing the words that would declare him no longer King of the Reach, and Kaie as the new ruler, signing it off with a flourish and appending a magical seal for good measure. “All right, you're done, this is yours. All Hail the Reach-Queen.”

It didn't hurt anything like as much as he thought it would. If anything, he felt relieved. Apparently Kaie didn't feel the same because next thing he knew, he was being hugged by a tearful daughter.

“You can't,” Kaie whispered. “You're Madanach Saoirseach, you can't just resign as King of the Reach!”

“Tough, just did,” Madanach said, feeling rather glad at the weight sliding off his shoulders. “Here, keep it, I'll let you make the announcement. Or did you want me to say a few words?”

Kaie sobbed and held on to him, before kissing him on the cheek.

“What announcement,” Kaie whispered. “I'm not telling anyone.” She picked up the declaration and folded it in half, pocketing it. “Fine. You go. Not like anyone's ever really been able to stop you doing anything you wanted to do. Granda Caradach, Nepos and Elisif and sometimes Auntie Keirine are about the only people who could ever manage that one. But I'm not using this until the Empire forces my hand. Reach-King.”

Now who was the stubborn one. All the same, Madanach couldn't fault her loyalty. Getting up, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Whatever happened, he had a feeling the Reach would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are, Madanach going and taking the five year old, who after being snatched from her home, refuses to leave him. I'm not sure who'll regret this more, but it'll be an adventure, right?
> 
> Next chapter, we finally get Elisif in Thedas.
> 
> Dovah translation:
> 
> Sosinjud - Reach-Queen (lit. bloodmage queen)  
> Pentaaraan Miinne - Penitus Oculatus  
> kendovve - warriors  
> Hiimsegol - Stone City, ie. Markarth  
> Maar-Dinok - terror-death, ie. Madanach  
> monah - mother  
> Ruvaak-Monah - Raven-Mother, ie. Hagraven, Matriarch


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elisif's alone in a strange land, and between the demons, the suspicious locals and the magical burn on her hand, she's already regretting coming here. But while Elisif is back doing what a Dragonborn does best, the people of Thedas are watching... and the prospect of a warrior from a whole other land among them with power from the gods is unsettling everybody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People have reviewed and seem to like it so far! Awesome! Welcome aboard, here's hoping it stays that way. In this next bit, we finally see what's happening with Elisif in Thedas! Well, if you played Dragon Age Inquisition, you know how it starts, but here we are.

Elisif slowly opened her eyes, wondering where she was and why she was so uncomfortable and this was not Solitude, and not the Reach either, and why did she still have her armour on, she never slept in it…

Memories of a ritual, of Kyne in her Southern Dragon guise hauling her away to do something, of hearing a scream and after that everything got very hazy – green light, running, some sort of spidery monster thing, and a woman? Not Kyne-Flemeth, but Elisif didn't know who she actually was.

Green light flared in front of her, and Elisif cried out as her left hand blazed in pain, and what the actual fuck was that in her palm?? Some sort of magical scar? Spell gone wrong? Years of proximity to the Reachmen had at least taught her that much, but didn't tell her what it did or how it got there or whether she should be worrying that it kept flaring off and hurting.

The shackles on her wrists though, and the fact she seemed to be locked in some sort of prison cell, those were definitely things to be concerned about. As was the far door being kicked open and an angry dark-haired woman with light-brown skin and full heavy armour striding towards her.

“Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now!” she snapped at her, standing on the other side of the cell bars with arms folded. As introductions went, Elisif could safely say this wasn't the best one.

“I didn't do anything!” Elisif protested, surprised to hear unfamiliar words pour from her lips and yet she understood them.

“Do not lie to me!” the dark-haired woman shouted. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes is destroyed! Our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, perished! Everyone who was at the Conclave is dead! Everyone… except for you.”

“I swear I don't know what you're talking about,” Elisif gasped. “And surviving something dangerous isn't a reason to kill someone! Where I'm from, such people are usually considered blessed by the gods, not criminals!”

The woman's eyes flared at her but she didn't respond directly. Instead she reached through the bars and grabbed Elisif's now-glowing hand. 

“No? In that case, explain this!”

Elisif would dearly love to, but considering she'd only seen it for the first time two minutes ago, she was at a loss.

“I don't know how the mark got there!” Elisif cried. “It's some sort of magical scar or burn? I don't know any more, I'm not a mage!”

The woman growled and let her go, turning to another woman who'd followed her in. Red hair from the look of it, pale skin compared to the first woman's light-brown complexion, and that meant they weren't some barbarian tribe. Different skin colours meant different ethnic groups mixing which meant peace over a large geographic area… which in Elisif's experience meant Empire. Or something along those lines, some pan-national institution ensuring different tribes didn't start killing each other. It meant civilisation – a whole civilisation and Tamriel didn't know a thing about it. The weapons and armour on show looked fairly good quality too, which meant they'd have armed forces at their disposal.

And here she was, the sole Tamrielite for miles, all on her own, in trouble, and worse, she was Imperial Heir, representing Tamriel, not some private citizen who the Empire could disavow. First contact between her Empire and some unknown but potentially dangerous power, and it was all on her. And so far it was not going well.

“Leliana?” Dark-Hair was asking. “Thoughts?”

“Something more is going on than we know, Cassandra,” Leliana warned, one hand on Cassandra's arm, eyeing Elisif warily, and Elisif realised that if she was reading them, they were reading her, and Leliana struck Elisif as someone who was very good at it. If Cassandra was a hot-tempered warrior who could lay you out with a punch, Leliana was a keen observer of people… and probably the more dangerous of the two.

“That much is obvious,” Cassandra snapped, gesturing at Elisif. “I was hoping you could tell me where she's from. I don't recognise the armour.”

Elisif never had been keen on people talking about her as if she wasn't there, and seven years of being Jarl had made her even less keen on it, if only because since becoming High Queen, it just never happened any more. 

“My name is Elisif Dragonborn, Jarl of Solitude, High Queen of Skyrim, Imperial Heir of Tamriel, and if you execute me, you will assuredly come to regret it,” Elisif snapped, glaring at both women, and while Cassandra just bristled at her, Leliana actually looked intrigued.

“Meaningless titles,” Cassandra said, brushing Elisif off completely. “I've never even heard of these places.”

“But that doesn't mean they don't exist,” Leliana said, turning away and walking to a nearby table on which Elisif's things had been laid out. They'd left her her armour, but her swords, shield, coin purse and Jagged Crown had been taken off her, presumably as either evidence or just for idle curiosity. Leliana had picked Dawnbreaker up and was examining it carefully.

“Armour the design of which we don't recognise, any of us,” Leliana said softly. “Not you, not Cullen, no one. A shield with what's clearly a heraldic device, but not for any noble house Josie knew of – she didn't even recognise the style. And this sword – I have never seen its like. It looks almost transparent, like it's made of glass and fire, but that's surely not possible. But the edge on it – this is no ceremonial artefact, Cassandra. It's a real sword… and a priceless one. And then there's this.”

Leliana had put Dawnbreaker down and reached for the Crown, picking it up and stroking one of the teeth, and Elisif felt raw, instinctual panic settling in. A Daedric artefact could likely take care of itself, but the Crown was the badge of office for the High Queen of Skyrim!

“Don't touch it!” Elisif cried. “That's valuable!”

“More valuable than the fiery enchanted sword?” Leliana asked, smiling as if she'd won a game Elisif hadn't fully realised they were playing. “This isn't just any old helm, is it? And are those… dragon teeth?”

“Yes,” Elisif said, gritting her teeth. “I don't expect you to understand its importance, but could you please put it down??”

Leliana smirked but did as asked, replacing it gently on the table, almost respectfully.

“She's telling the truth, Cassandra,” Leliana said calmly. “That helm is likely a priceless heirloom of her people, and quite likely a badge of office too. Instantly recognisable on a battlefield so you know where your leader is, and also a sign that the leader will be on a battlefield if needed. Not something given out to just anyone. None of her kit is the sort of thing that would be given out to just anyone. Wherever she's from, she's important… and a skilled warrior. We'd be mad to not make use of that.”

Cassandra grunted, clearly not liking any part of this as her dark eyes flicked back to Elisif.

“Those names she gave, I want them run by our ambassador,” Cassandra snapped, and Leliana nodded in acquiescence before turning to leave. Elisif wasn't sure if she was pleased or not. On the one hand, Leliana was the one arguing to spare her life. On the other hand, Leliana also unnerved Elisif in a way Cassandra didn't.

But Cassandra was unlocking the cell door and hauling her out, clearly not liking this but not having any other options.

“An act of terror has laid waste to one of our holiest sites, killed our Divine and murdered hundreds,” Cassandra said tersely. “You are the sole survivor and thus far, only suspect. You have a magical mark no one fully understands, and no one knows where you came from. Maybe you truly don't know what happened, but the fact remains you have questions to answer. In the meantime, you are fortunate that your mark might be able to help.”

Cassandra produced keys and unlocked the shackles before hauling Elisif to her feet. The anger seemed to have subsided a little and Elisif had a feeling her life was no longer in immediate danger. 

“Here, take your shield and your helm,” Cassandra was saying. “You should have some protection. I don't know what exactly we may face out there, but the emergency is not over. I however am taking the swords. I don't trust you with weapons yet. You are still a prisoner after all.”

Cassandra seemed utterly unfazed by Elisif's glare, slinging both swords over her shoulder before motioning for Elisif to lead. Evidently turning her back on the potentially dangerous prisoner was a step too far and honestly, Elisif couldn't fault Cassandra there. Whoever she was, she'd been trained well. If Elisif could win Cassandra over… but perhaps that was expecting too much. So she said nothing and swallowed her pride and followed Cassandra out.

The pain in her hand as she stepped into sunlight nearly overwhelmed her, and Elisif sank to her knees, screaming.

Cassandra was by her side, hand on her back, waiting until it subsided. When Elisif finally opened her eyes, Cassandra was looking down at her, not unsympathetic.

“The mark is spreading… and it is killing you,” Cassandra said quietly. “Our best mages don't know what it is… but it seems linked to that.”

Cassandra pointed at the sky, and Elisif could feel the blood draining from her face as she saw green light in the sky and realised what she was looking at. It looked like a hole in the sky, leading into… Aetherius or Oblivion, one of the two, and raw magic that even Elisif could sense was pouring out of it.

No wonder she'd been sent here. They blatantly and clearly needed help.

“What do you need me to do,” Elisif said, deciding she could forgive their mistrust under the circumstances. She honestly couldn't say she wouldn't be reacting the same to some mysterious stranger turning up in the midst of all this.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow but seemed to approve.

“Come with me to the Breach,” Cassandra said. “Our mage in residence seems to think that mark of yours is our best hope at sealing it, but we need to test this. Do this for us and… I can promise a trial at least.”

That was not what Elisif had hoped for, but she supposed it was the best she was going to get.

“You still think I'm guilty?” Elisif sighed as she staggered to her feet. “You think I did this to myself??”

“Not intentionally,” Cassandra said, helping her up. “But something clearly went wrong. As to what happens next, that's not my decision. Come.”

Cassandra led her out and Elisif took the first opportunity to look around this new world. It looked… a lot like home. Mountains. Pines. A frozen lake glittering in this distance. Snow everywhere, but was it just winter in the mountains or was this permafrost like Winterhold? Hard to tell, but Elisif glanced at the sun, high in the sky, higher than it ever really got in the far north, and guessed this was winter. Had she travelled forward in time too? She had a feeling asking the date wouldn't help much with that. So she focused on the people instead, on the little village Cassandra was leading her through, a village with lots of tents surrounding it, giving it more the air of an army camp than a town. Lots of people were watching, with a variety of skin colours but mostly pale skin like hers. Interesting. So this was the part of the world where pale-skinned humans were the majority, but there were clearly travellers here. Well, honestly most of these people were likely not local. Hadn't there been some sort of Conclave? At a holy site, likely a site of pilgrimage? So pilgrims then, which meant a shared religion over a wide space, and at least one very popular god capable of commanding widespread loyalty. Cassandra had mentioned the death of the Most Holy, Divine Justinia. Stendarr have mercy.

“Cassandra,” Elisif began, looking nervously at all the people glaring at her. “Cassandra, did I kill your god?”

Cassandra turned and stared at her in shock.

“What??” she demanded. “Did I hear you correctly?”

“You know, the Divine,” Elisif said, worried. “You said she'd died.”

“The Most Holy...” Cassandra began, before shaking her head, looking like she was trying not to laugh. “No. Most Holy is… was a great woman, an incomparable leader. But she was a woman, not a god. Our god is the Maker, and Andraste his Bride and Prophet. Divine Justinia was the leader of the faithful.”

“Oh thank the Eight – I mean, I'm so sorry for your loss,” Elisif corrected herself, realising that being thought responsible for the death of their beloved high priestess was not a lot better than murdering a god. “Only back home the Divines are our gods, we'd never give that title to a mortal.” Apart from maybe Talos, but Elisif was definitely not going there.

“Gods, plural??” Cassandra shook her head, looking vaguely appalled. “I thought you said that earlier, I hoped I'd misheard. Andraste save us – I do not know what heathen customs your people follow and right now it does not matter. Just keep quiet about them if you want to help your case. We believe in the Maker… and we're mourning our Most Holy. The people are frightened, and they've decided your guilt already. They need it.”

They were terrified and they needed someone to blame. Elisif looked at the faces around her and saw hostility, fear… uncertainty. They wanted to believe her guilty and that executing her would solve all this. But the sky had a hole in it and one death, even a Dragonborn's, would not help. 

_Martin Septim's did._

Yes, well, Martin Septim had had the Amulet of Kings, and there'd been a ritual and… Elisif didn't know what had happened, but she had a feeling there was another way. Kyne-Flemeth had asked for her help but had said nothing about her death being required. Elisif decided that heroic sacrifices could wait until they knew more. She'd die if she had to, but not in vain.

_And I can't die, Maia needs me. By the Eight, they'll likely know I'm gone by now, what have they told Maia, where is she, is she all right???_

Elisif felt an overwhelming urge to hold her baby, while at the same time being very glad said little girl wasn't here. And Madanach, dear gods, where was Madanach, what had they told him?? He was old, frail, this could break him, and the only remotely positive thing here was that he might not remember who she was to mourn her. Thanks to all the magical interference, she couldn't feel him properly through the bond anyway, although he felt a long way away. Directly below her and far away which was completely ridiculous. Felt like he was sleeping at the moment anyway. She hoped his dreams were good ones.

Cassandra led her through the town, past the lake, up to the gates and then out onto a winding mountain path. Elisif followed, not entirely sure where this was going, but if they were judging her anyway without knowing a thing about her, she might as well give them something to judge her with. So she followed, entertaining herself by glaring at Dawnbreaker gleaming away on Cassandra's back.

Aside from her mark incapacitating her every time the Breach flared, of course. And then it became apparent that the Breach wasn't just flaring out magic, it was also spitting out endless waves of demons. They'd just reached another bridge over the river, when a bolt of pure magic from the Breach smashed into the stonework in front of them and sent everyone flying. Elisif flung up her hand, instinctively dropping and rolling as the bridge disintegrated before her, letting her armour take the worst of the impact… but Elisif knew she'd be feeling this tomorrow. If she saw tomorrow.

Cassandra was already on her feet, sword out and ready to engage the two demons that had just arrived. Well, one of them. The other had backed away from the furious woman with the sword and was advancing on Elisif. Combat then, and it had been a while since Elisif had had to fight anything personally, but once you knew how to fight, you never really forgot, and Elisif felt the rest of the world fade away as a warrior's trance settled over her. She readied her shield, eyes casting about for anything that might make a good weapon, and then she noticed Dawnbreaker, apparently dropped in the confusion, blinking up at her. Thank Stendarr. 

Elisif dived for the sword, grabbing it and rolling out of the demon's way, staggering to her feet and rounding on the demon.

“FUS RO DAH!” she howled at the demon, grinning as it was flung off its feet and sent flying by the Thu'um. She didn't use the Thu'um very often, didn't have much need for it these days. She didn't fight that often either. She'd forgotten how it felt – the adrenaline, the power, the real risk of dying, knowing it was them or you and everything else just faded into insignificance. Them or her, and Elisif was determined it would be her victorious. Her dragon blood was alive and on fire in a way it hadn't been for years, delighting in the fight, and Elisif was minded to indulge it. The world needed a Dragonborn again – who was she to deny it?

The demon died easily, Dawnbreaker's fire blazing as she carved into it, Meridia's magic clearly disapproving of demons being in Mundus. Elisif withdrew her blade before turning to see how Cassandra was getting on.

Cassandra had killed the other demon and was now advancing on her, sword at the ready.

“Drop your weapon,” Cassandra snarled. “You're a prisoner!”

“I had a demon bearing down on me, what did you expect me to do?” Elisif snapped. “And yes it is my sword, which _you_ dropped! I'm not turning down a perfectly good weapon when a fight breaks out. Are you seriously telling me there won't be any more of them ahead? And that you'd turn down having another warrior at your side?”

Cassandra grunted, clearly annoyed, but she saw the wisdom of not fighting alone, and sheathed her blade.

“Fine,” Cassandra sighed. “I don't know what we'll be facing, but I do know I can't protect you. Here, take your other sword too. And these potions. We will likely need them.”

Not a cheery thought but Elisif took the healing potions. Better to have them than not.

“If I might ask,” Cassandra was adding, sounding more curious than accusing. “What did you do just then? You shouted something at that demon and it went flying. I thought you said you weren't a mage?”

“I'm not,” Elisif sighed, wondering if perhaps the Thu'um should have been kept under wraps until she'd proved herself. Too late now, and besides it did no harm for people to know she had power, did it? “Look, it's complicated but basically it's a gift. From the gods. It's called the Voice and it lets me shout and do things that normally only a mage can do. And a few things they can't. I don't fully understand it myself but I used it to save the world once. I can use it to help you.”

“Can it close the Breach?” Cassandra asked, shrewd look on her face as she contemplated the possibilities. Elisif honestly wasn't sure.

“I don't know,” Elisif said quietly. “But we can try, right?”

“We can,” Cassandra replied, nodding for Elisif to keep going. “Come, let's move. We need to reach the forward camp. We'll be needed.”

So Elisif followed, dispatching more demons on the way, glad to see none of her skills had vanished, and it seemed Cassandra was quite the skilled warrior as well. Not that Elisif had believed otherwise but it was good to see proof. Then up ahead, in what looked like it had once been a side room of a larger building but was now open-roofed and covered in snow, was the sound of fighting.

“Come, we must help them,” Cassandra called to her and Elisif didn't disagree.

Demons, of course, looking to have just leapt out of the green Veil rift hovering in the sky just above them, and fighting them were soldiers in orange and light green uniforms, and in the middle, one very short man with a fine-looking crossbow, and a bald elf in a green tunic casting spells. So they did have elves here! She'd not seen any back in the village. Which, now that she thought about it, was a bit odd if the place was a centre of pilgrimage. Did elves have different gods? But if humans only believed in one and that all others were false gods… how on earth did elves and humans peacefully co-exist? 

_Maybe they don't._

Which was not a cheering thought, but she had other problems right now. Shrieking a true Nord battle-cry, Elisif charged into the fray, knocking over a demon that had been about to savage the elven mage. 

“KRII LUN AUS!” Elisif roared at it and took great satisfaction in the demon shrinking away from her. Dawnbreaker did the rest.

Cassandra had sorted out another, and there was one on the ground studded with crossbow bolts, and all in all things seemed calm… for now. Apart from the glowing green hole in the sky of course, and this wasn't even the big one.

The mark on her hand flared again, green light spitting out, and then a hand grabbed her wrist, pointing her hand in the direction of the rift.

“What are you…?” Elisif began, seeing it was the bald elf who'd dared to touch her, and this was unheard of, strangers _never_ touched her. No one went anywhere near the High Queen and Heir to the Ruby Throne without several layers of clearance and guards staring them down.

The elf ignored her protests, and the mark flared again, magic erupting out of it and pouring into the rift… and then the rift exploded – and was gone.

“What just happened?” Elisif whispered as the elf let her go, smirking triumphantly in a way that reminded her of Madanach, and it was a good thing her type wasn't skinny bald elves, because that smile could be dangerous.

But as it was, the memory of Madanach just made her heart ache, because he wasn't here, he was far away… and he didn't smile like that any more. Elisif took a step back, watching the elf suspiciously and awaiting an explanation.

“I had a theory and tested it,” the elf replied, still seeming delighted with himself. “I'm very glad to have been proved right. It seems we are not helpless in the face of this catastrophe after all.”

“What happened?” Cassandra demanded, making her way over. “Did you just close the rift?”

“The mark did,” Elisif said, flexing her fingers and staring at it in wonder. “I don't know how...”

Cassandra stared at the mark and then to Elisif's surprise actually smiled slightly.

“Well, now it seems you have another gift from the Maker,” Cassandra said. “Solas, do you think it will work on the big one?”

Solas, as the elf was clearly called (and that was an odd name for an elf who wasn't Dunmer too, most male elves Elisif knew tended to have names ending in -il, -or, -ar or similar), just inclined his head.

“Yes, I believe so. We will not know for sure until we get there. Tell me, are you feeling well? Able to make the journey? I must say, you look much improved from when I last saw you.”

Elisif was about to query when on Nirn he'd seen her before, when the short man with the crossbow spoke up.

“He means he stopped your mark from killing you while you slept,” he told her, grinning up at her and it was only now she was close up that she realised just how short he was. He wasn't a lot taller than Maia and yet those were the broad shoulders and firm face and chest hair of an adult male.

“Varric Tethras, at your service,” he introduced himself. “Rogue, storyteller… and occasional unwelcome tagalong.” This was said with a wink at Cassandra, who grimaced at him. Elisif liked him immediately.

“Elisif, and I'm very pleased to meet you!” Elisif told him, dying to ask what he was or why he was so short – he didn't look deformed. Except you didn't just up and ask someone why they were so short. But maybe you could ask other things. “That's a very impressive crossbow!”

“Isn't she?” Varric purred, glancing over his shoulder, smiling proudly at the crossbow that was nearly as big as he was. “Bianca and I have been together for years. Been through a lot in that time, haven't we?” Varric patted the crossbow and turned back to her, seeming curious about her too. “But this is the first time we've dealt with a giant hole in the sky.”

“Same here,” Elisif admitted. “But we fixed the little one, right?”

“You fixed it,” Cassandra said, and was that actual approval in her voice? “That is more than anyone else has managed.”

“Are they going to take that into account in my trial?” Elisif couldn't help but ask. Cassandra had the grace to look a little awkward, but it was Solas who answered, seeming amused by the entire possibility.

“Cassandra, this woman isn't even a mage. Do you seriously believe she's responsible for all this?”

“It would not be the first time a problem has arisen, and mysteriously and coincidentally the exact solution has materialised days after, and then later it is learned the alleged solution created the problem in the first place,” Cassandra said, still frowning. “Still, I will not pretend that Elisif's abilities are not what we need… and it would be difficult to mimic staggering out of the Fade itself. So I will suspend my own judgement for now, if you and Elisif come with me to the Breach and help seal it.”

“Agreed,” Elisif said, not entirely happy with this, but what could she do? Just leave the Breach to swallow the world? Get bigger and bigger until it reached Tamriel? She couldn't let that happen.

“Of course,” Solas said, still smiling at Elisif in that unnerving Madanachian way. “You are not a mage, no… but I believe you're special in some other way. I saw you shout at the demon and… change it. It wasn't magic. It didn't draw on the Fade. It was… something else. I've not seen a human use it before. I would be interested to know more about it.”

_I just bet you would._ Keirine had also expressed an interest in the Thu'um, and in particular that elven steward of hers, Liriel, had been _fascinated._ Elisif however had always declined on the basis that some knowledge was too dangerous to be shared, and she'd flat out forbidden any experiments or research involving her daughter.

A daughter who was now alone and unprotected in the Reach with a father who barely recognised her and a sister who loved her but who would put the Reach's interests first if she had to. Elisif shut her eyes and offered a prayer to Mara to keep her baby safe. 

In the meantime, Elisif needed to keep the world safe… again. 

“Maybe when the Breach is shut, I'll tell you more, but in the meantime we have a Veil to seal,” Elisif said firmly. “Come on, let's go – Varric, are you coming?”

“Absolutely,” Varric promised, adjusting his coat and preparing to follow… until Cassandra stopped him.

“There is no need for you to come, dwarf,” Cassandra snapped. “You were brought here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer necessary. So your presence here is no longer requi-”

“Have you seen the valley lately, Seeker?” Varric interrupted, not angry exactly but definitely determined, his voice smooth and persuasive and if Solas had more in common with her husband than Elisif was comfortable with, Varric reminded her of Brynjolf, former thief and conman turned special agent. Charming, friendly, Elisif was very fond of him… but never entirely trusted him and certainly never with money. That didn't mean she wouldn't listen though.

“Your soldiers aren't in control any more,” Varric continued, knowing grin still in place. “You need me.”

Cassandra made that same disgusted grunt again, looking like she'd dearly like to disagree but couldn't rightly say he was wrong.

“Fine, but I will be watching you, dwarf,” Cassandra snapped, motioning for them all to follow her. Solas motioned for Elisif to go ahead of him, and she did… but she deliberately slowed her pace so Varric could keep in step with her. Someone else not here entirely of his own free will was someone she wanted to get to know better.

“So… you're a dwarf?” she asked, fascinated. “I mean, one of the Dwemer?” She'd heard the Dwemer of Tamriel had been the same height as Dunmer, but perhaps the stories were wrong. And if this was a continent on which they'd survived… She could imagine an awful lot of mages who'd be stampeding over here to get to know them better, Calcelmo for a start, and quite honestly probably Liriel as well, and if it got the woman obsessed with something other than the Voice, Elisif could live with that.

“Yeah, I'm a dwarf, Blue-eyes,” Varric said, rolling his eyes. “What, you never met one before?”

Elisif shook her head. 

“No, they all disappeared years ago!” Elisif whispered. “They just left their cities behind, great big underground cities and lots of robots guarding them. We don't know a lot about them. But there's dwarves here! Real dwarves!”

“Real dwarves,” Varric said, with some amusement. “Sadly, I'm not one. Born on the surface, never been to Orzammar, only time I went to an old dwarven thaig, it… didn't end well. And now, Blue-eyes, I gotta ask, where in the Void are you from that all that's left is abandoned thaigs and no one's even seen a dwarf?”

“Tamriel,” Elisif whispered. “It's a huge continent, in the north of Nirn – that's the planet we're on… I hope. I don't suppose you've heard of it.”

“Can't say I have… are you seriously telling me there's a whole other land out there that none of us have ever heard of, and you're from there? Speaking our language and everything? Wow, no wonder the Seeker thinks you're guilty. She probably thinks you're an enemy spy and we're about to get invaded any day now. For all we know, this is the vanguard.”

“Tamriel's not invading!” Elisif gasped, appalled. “And this is _not_ how we'd do it! We'd send the Legions, not – not rip a hole in the sky and let the Daedra through to do what they liked with it!”

“Oh, is there an invasion plan?” Varric asked, eyebrow raised. “That's not comforting, Blue-eyes.”

“No!” Elisif cried. “None of us even knew this place was out here! That's assuming I'm even on Nirn still.”

“I believe you are,” Solas said calmly, following along behind, completely unperturbed. “You are breathing just fine, yes? You don't feel heavier or lighter? Other than your mark, no physical ill-effects? And as far as your physiology goes, you appear a normal human in all respects, albeit taller than most of them, gifted with that strange thing you do with your voice and strangely immune to the cold.”

“It's cold?” Elisif said, before recalling there was snow on the ground, frozen rivers and lakes, icicles dangling off ledges, and yes it was a bit chilly in the shade, wasn't it? “I mean, yes, it's a bit cold.”

“A bit cold?” Varric scoffed. “We're freezing our asses off, it's winter in the mountains, and she says it's a bit chilly? Understatement a thing where you're from, Blue-eyes?”

“No!” Elisif protested. “It's just… I'm from the far north of Tamriel. It's always cold. You just get used to it.”

“Cold? In the north?” Cassandra had glanced over her shoulder, clearly disbelieving. “Don't be ridiculous, it gets warmer the further north you go, not colder.”

Cassandra turned around and began climbing down a ladder that led into the valley below, her mind clearly elsewhere, and Elisif began to quietly question what she'd previously held as basic facts about her planet.

“But that's not true. Is it?” Elisif turned to Solas, hoping he'd have an explanation, and mercifully, he was still smiling.

“Here, it is. Because we are on a continent on the southern half of a round planet. However, I believe that if you hailed from a continent on the northern half of such a planet, the reverse would be true. The warm part of a round world is the central part of it. The poles, north and south, are covered in ice.”

Elisif could have kissed him, but fortunately for everyone, it was her turn to descend next so she restrained herself and just smiled. In fact, she distinctly recalled hearing Liriel explain something similar to her on her last visit to Hag's End.

“You remind me of an elf I know back home,” Elisif told him as she began to climb down. Solas knelt by the top of the ladder, intrigued.

“So you have elves there? I wonder, do you treat them any better than the humans here do?”

“I don't know, how do the humans here treat you?” Elisif asked, focusing mainly on where her feet were going and where the next rung was, but that nagging feeling of there being no elves back at the village was coming back to her. A religion followed by humans that tolerated no other gods but theirs, elves existing but not alongside the humans, dear gods her fears of mutual hostility might just be true.

“Take a wild guess, Blue-eyes,” Varric called, just beginning the descent himself. Cassandra was waiting at the bottom, clearly having heard all this for herself.

“The Chantry teaches they are further from the Maker than humans, as are dwarves,” Cassandra said firmly. “Elves mostly live in their own sectors of human cities, called alienages, or else in service to human nobles.”

“That's if they're not Dalish,” Varric added, following Solas down. “They're the kind who ride around the woods in aravels, avoiding humans like the Blight.”

Elisif closed her eyes, a hand to her face as she began to fully realise just what sort of country she'd come to. Elves either servants or restricted to certain areas of the city, regarded by the religion of humans as inherently inferior… this was appalling. This was like Windhelm's Grey Quarter, except worse, because the Eight did not preach that humans were better than elves – the Dominion worshipped the Eight as well. And the Grey Quarter was an aberration, a product of hostile Nords and Ulfric's own displaced anger at the Thalmor. Elsewhere in Skyrim, elves occupied positions at all levels of society – elven priests, elven court mages, stewards, housecarls, elven merchants, farmers, stablehands, warriors, Legionnaires, even members of the guards these days. And Skyrim was one of the least elf-friendly places in Tamriel. Everywhere else, it really wasn't an issue. Whereas here it sounded like elves were treated like Ulfric had treated the Dunmer… or how the Jarls of the Reach had treated the Reachmen. And the elves just accepted this?

_They need a Madanach. And maybe an Elisif on the human side._

It occurred to Elisif that they did now have that last one. Maybe there was a rebel leader somewhere too. But perhaps that was something for later. For now, Elisif just shook her head.

“No, we don't treat elves like that,” Elisif sighed. “There are elven kingdoms, and even in human kingdoms, they're not made to live separately. Most don't work as servants either, they do all sorts of jobs. Including important ones. And the Eight Divines – those are our gods, by the way – don't discriminate among races. We're all Akatosh's children. Akatosh is the dragon that Shouted the world into being, and he leads the Eight.” Which wasn't strictly theologically true, but Elisif had got very used to simplifying things for Maia's sake and had never been mystically inclined anyway. Akatosh was the leader of the Eight, usually represented as a dragon and had set time going, so that interpretation was good enough for her. Also it tallied with what Odahviing and Paarthurnax between them had told her. She'd trust the immortal Dov over human priests on this.

“Fascinating,” Solas murmured. “You and I are going to have to discuss this further after the current emergency.”

“Enough!” Cassandra barked as she sprinted off to where several more demons had just fallen from the sky. “We have other concerns right now. We can discuss social and political arrangements of heathen nations later. Look out, demons!”

Elisif drew Dawnbreaker and swung into action again, diving into the fight and putting everything else to one side, heedless of Varric and Solas both watching her out of the corner of their eyes, both noting demons shrinking back from Dawnbreaker's fire, and both noting her Shout one shade half way across the lake.

“Did you just see that,” Varric murmured to Solas as he hefted Bianca for a shot at the prone demon. “She just shouted something at that demon and sent it flying.”

“So I saw,” Solas said, attention turning to the wraiths besieging Cassandra as he sent frost magic flying in their direction.

“And that doesn't bother you?” Varric asked. “That we've got ourselves some fearsome warrior who shouts at the world and basically makes it do what it's told, and that she's from some whole other country with its own gods, where elves are equal citizens, and it's got Legions. Not one legion. Legions plural. More than one nation, yeah, but she spoke of Tamriel as if it's fundamentally united. So we got this massive northern continent, knows nothing about the Chant, treats elves like people, and has massive armies with enchanted gear and quite possibly more like her. And no one in Thedas is remotely ready. And you don't think that's worrying?”

“Oh, I think she's rather unique even over there,” Solas said calmly. “But calm yourself, Varric. She knows very little of our customs from the look of it, is honest about where she's from, yet she speaks our tongue well. Too well. Barely a trace of accent, in fact she sounds like a Fereldan noble with a hint of the Marches.”

“Yeah, Chuckles, I'd noticed,” Varric sighed, taking another shot at a shade taking a sudden interest in him and Solas… or at least it did until Elisif pounced on it from behind and carved into it, shouting something about facing its death with some honour, demon! “Your point being?”

“She didn't learn our tongue the hard way, a spirit's gifted her with that knowledge,” Solas said as he froze the demon solid so as to make it easier for Elisif to kill it. “A powerful spirit, powerful enough to take her from her home and transplant her here. If we are not prepared for Tamriel, they are not ready for us either. And if we can win her friendship, we might just have an ally when the Tamrielites inevitably one day find us.”

“We'll need it if someone in the Chantry does something stupid,” Varric sighed, years of experience telling him this was a near certainty where humans were concerned. “Like, say, decide the Maker will come back if we preach the Chant of Light in Tamriel too, and declare an Exalted March against the big continent with the legions of heavily armed warriors. And what's the betting they don't lock their mages up in Circles either?”

“A question I'm very keen to know the answer to,” Solas answered, shouldering his staff as Cassandra and Elisif between them killed the last demon and turned to rejoin them. “But one that we can ask later. Here they come, Master Tethras, look friendly.”

Varric and Solas both looked pleased enough to see the returning humans, and in Varric's case the pleasure was real – he liked Elisif already. She seemed genuinely friendly and keen to help. But he could also tell she was noble – the gear looked worth a fortune and definitely designed to draw attention to the wearer. Not something you wore unless you had a retinue of guards to deal with thieves and enemies, and the legal right to haul people before a judge if they inconvenienced you… or summarily execute them and not have to worry about consequences. She was following along with Cassandra for now, but she'd seemed genuinely appalled to hear how elves were treated, and Varric had a feeling she wouldn't just go along with the rest of the Chantry's teachings either. So. Human noble but not an Andrastian, and from a continent that was unlikely to just roll over and do what the Chantry told it. And thanks to her mark that seemed to be the only thing able to save them from the demons, they couldn't just execute her either. This was a mess… but an interesting one, and Varric could honestly say that perhaps Thedas needed to take its head out of its ass and get to grips with the rest of the world.

There was a rest of the world. That… Varric needed a drink. He'd never thought of himself as Thedosian before, barely even as a Marcher. Varric was a Kirkwaller first, and a dwarf second, and really not a proper dwarf in any way. And yet now there was a whole other land out there. Varric shivered at the thought. He couldn't get his head round it. So he didn't. He focused instead on the woman in front of him, just Elisif the warrior who was going to help them. He could deal with one woman. And if he befriended her, if they all could work together through this, he might just be able to get himself on the right side should an Exalted March happen. He might even be able to keep Kirkwall safe if he played his cards right. But for now, there were demons to shoot. Varric could handle that, and so he followed Elisif and Cassandra up the hill. 

“So, Blue-eyes, you never answered my question,” Varric said, edging up to Elisif. “How's a nice girl like you from a civilised place like Tamriel end up in the ass-end of nowhere fighting demons?”

Elisif actually laughed at that, but both she and Varric were keenly aware of Cassandra glancing in their direction, and Solas right behind them, both clearly listening in. Elisif sighed and lowered her head.

“Void it, I might as well tell you,” Elisif sighed. “I had – have – a husband back home. And we were happy. We had a baby and were talking about having another, and I didn't want for anything. But then he got sick. Really sick. He – he'd had a hard life, used to be a miner, used to – well, he'd spent twenty years breathing in rock dust and it affected his lungs. Then his mind went too. He barely remembered who Maia and I even were. He was dying and we all knew it. But I couldn't just let him go.”

“Wait,” Cassandra interrupted. “You said you were a High Queen. And you married – were allowed to marry – a common miner?”

“He wasn't a common miner,” Elisif growled, glaring irritably at Cassandra. “And a Jarl may marry who she wishes, as can anyone else in Skyrim. There's nothing special about Jarls, we're just the ones our Holds will follow. As it happens, he ended up in a mine for twenty years but… bugger it, it wasn't just a mine. It was a prison for the worst criminals of the Reach. He was in prison because he'd led a rebellion against unjust rulers. I ended up in the same prison without even a trial because the prison's owner backed another Jarl for the crown of Skyrim. That's where I met Madanach. He found out I was one of the candidates for the throne, and as my rival, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, was responsible for him ending up in prison, he offered to help. So we escaped together, and then we took over Ulfric's city, I defeated him in single combat while Madanach's army took the city, Madanach became the next Jarl and spent the next three months complaining about his predecessor's complete inability to run a city, before I became High Queen and gave him his kingdom back. And then we got married and… wait a second, are you taking notes??”

Varric had got a quill and parchment out and was frantically scribbling, paper pressed to a tree trunk.

“Yeah, just need to know how in the Void you spell Madanach, and are you seriously telling me the evil villain called himself Ulfric Stormcloak?” Varric said, apparently oblivious to Elisif's pointed stare, or more likely not caring. “Don't give me that look, Blue-eyes, that is one hell of a story, and I'm sure there's a lot more to it. Someone needs to write that, why not me?”

“The Bards' College already – never mind,” Elisif sighed. “All right, I will tell you the story of how I became High Queen and met my husband when we're not fighting demons, but right now, all you need to know is that there's no happy ending. Because he got sick after only two and a half years of marriage. He was older than me anyway, and all that time in prison had wrecked his health. But I couldn't… I couldn't let him go and I couldn't stand watching my little girl trying to talk to him and not getting a proper response. I just wanted my baby to have a father again.”

“What did you do?” Cassandra snapped, clearly seeing where this was going. “Let me guess, you turned to dark magic.”

“I didn't – look, it was a ritual to the goddess Kynareth – that's the goddess of the skies,” Elisif sighed. “And there wasn't any human sacrifice involved or anything, although I think we may have wrecked the temple in the process, but the local Jarl's a friend of mine so I think my steward can sort that out for me… Anyway. Madanach's sister Keirine is something of a witch, and she said the ritual might work, but any healing Kynareth might give would come at a cost. I said I'd be willing to pay it. I didn't know Kyne would turn up in person… but she did. She looked like an old woman with silver hair, yellow eyes, red armour and a silver crown with a central point. She said she'd heal Madanach if I went with her and helped her. So I agreed and she taught me a language – your language – and made me immune to disease. Then she took me through a portal with her and I found myself in some sort of corridor. I heard screaming and ran to see what it was… and I don't remember anything else until Cassandra woke me up.”

Varric had lowered his quill, intrigued, and Solas's eyes had shot up, before the surprised expression vanished as quickly as it had arrived. While Cassandra looked frankly stunned.

“All we know is you stepped out of the Fade and collapsed, with that mark on your hand,” Cassandra breathed. “The soldiers who found you saw a woman behind you in the Fade – no one knows who she was. And now you say you did a ritual to one of your gods, but a woman appeared, a woman in her older years, who would provide healing for your husband if you came here and helped us?”

“Ye-es,” Elisif said uncertainly. “Look, I know it sounds bizarre but...”

“I know,” Cassandra said brusquely, turning away and making her way up the hill. “I need to think on this. In the meantime, we need to get to the forward camp, find Leliana.”

Cassandra turned and strode up the hill, not saying another word, not even as more demons arrived, and another Fade rift needed sealing – Elisif managing it on her own this time. Then the gates to the forward camp opened and Cassandra led them in, only pausing to replenish the supply of healing potions. 

Leliana was there in her chainmail and hood, face like a mask and looking as if she was going out of her way to hide her true feelings. She was standing by the side of a man in red and white robes, and he didn't look happy, a fact confirmed when he took one look at Elisif and his eyes narrowed.

“Chain her!” he snapped, indicated for the two heavily armoured guards behind him to make a move on Elisif. “I want her prepared for transport to Val Royeaux for trial immediately.”

Both guards glanced at Leliana, who glanced at Cassandra, and that was interesting, two male warriors both deferring to the women, not the man. Not that Tamriel didn't have female leaders, but clearly this man was not as powerful as he liked to think. It didn't however stop Elisif's hand going to her sword.

“That will not be necessary,” Cassandra said smoothly, a hand on Elisif's arm. “Chancellor, the prisoner is under my care, not yours. So far, the mark on her hand is the only thing that's been of any use against the rifts whatsoever. I'm sending her nowhere until we've got the Breach under control. So far, Elisif has co-operated.”

“We'll take that into consideration in her trial, but we can hardly let the Divine's murderer just walk around – gah!”

Cassandra had strode forward and slammed her fist onto the table.

“Enough!” Cassandra shouted. “Chancellor, you do not have the authority to make decisions on behalf of the Chantry.”

“That much is true,” Leliana added. “You have influence, yes, but don't think that translates into the ability to give orders.”

Which did rather beg the question of who was giving orders, and Elisif wasn't slow to ask it.

“So if you're not in charge, and you clearly aren't, who is?” Elisif asked, glancing Cassandra's way. If anyone was in charge, it was probably her, or at least, Elisif couldn't see Cassandra taking orders from just anyone, so leadership probably fell to her by default.

“Our Divine is dead,” the Chancellor admitted. “We need to return to Val Royeaux, elect a new Divine and follow her orders on the matter!”

Elect a new Divine – by Stendarr. Elisif had had enough trouble convening a Moot of nine people plus entourages and ensuring the result went her way. Elisif didn't know how big the electorate here was or how far they'd have to travel to reach this Val Royeaux place, but it was possible the process could take months, especially as the previous Divine had died suddenly, leaving no one any time to prepare. And all the while, _demons_ were falling from the sky, which had a great big _hole to Oblivion_ torn in it, presumably not accidentally either, which meant someone was out there who might be plotting another attack. Mara's mercy.

“We have demons falling out of the sky, and you're talking about an election??” Elisif shouted, losing patience. “We do not have _time_ for this! Cassandra, may I take it no one is in charge?”

Cassandra hesitated before inclining her head, a reluctant acknowledgement that this was the case.

“Our Divine is dead, which has left the chain of command… unclear,” Cassandra admitted. “Leliana and I, however, were her Left and Right Hands, her operatives in the world. We went where she could not, enforced her will when she could not do so personally. Until a new Divine arises, we will continue to act as she would wish.”

“Which would include resolving the current crisis,” Leliana said, stepping forward and ignoring the Chancellor entirely, all her attention on Elisif. “Cassandra says your mark can deal with rifts, is that right?”

“Yes,” Elisif said, relieved to finally be talking to someone who understood practicalities. “If you get me to the Breach, Solas here thinks it might work on that too.”

“We're taking advice from apostates now??” the Chancellor raged in the background, but Leliana and Cassandra paid him no attention and so Elisif didn't bother either.

“Then we'd better get you there,” Leliana said. “Now, there's the direct route up the mountain but it's infested with demons. Commander Cullen has troops up there, and they're holding their position, but if we're to get you through to the Breach, there will be casualties. Possibly considerable, but we can do this. Of course… there is another option.”

“Tell me,” Elisif said, it only occurring to her later that she wasn't actually Queen of wherever this was and they didn't actually have to do what she told them, but no one else was taking charge and Leliana seemed to be taking her seriously.

“There is a route, up the mountains, through some old tunnels, that should take you out near the Temple,” Leliana explained, indicating the mountain itself, and some steps, just visible, and what might be a cave mouth. “It will save time and certainly soldiers, although if there are demons, you will have to deal with them alone.”

“Not a problem,” Elisif said grimly, fingering Dawnbreaker and turning to look at Solas and Varric. “Are you two with me?”

“Of course!” Solas said, surprised. “You're the most magically interesting thing in the area not spewing demons into the world, I'm hardly letting you wander off on your own.”

“Count me in, Blue-eyes,” Varric grinned. “You need someone to watch your back.”

Which just left Cassandra, and predictably, she disagreed.

“Are you serious?” she demanded. “We already lost a scout patrol on that route and now you propose we risk our one hope of sealing the Breach?”

“So why don't we ask her?” Leliana replied, unperturbed, calm eyes gazing out from under her hood. Elisif was reminded of Eola for some reason. Would one of the twins grow up to be a bit like Leliana maybe? Maybe. But it seemed she had a choice to make.

“Would you really just follow whatever order I gave?” Elisif had to ask. 

“Yes, would you really?” the Chancellor snapped. “She's a dangerous criminal, a complete unknown, and you'd follow her orders over mine?”

Elisif could feel her dragon blood stirring, about tired of this annoying man and his irritating interruptions. That he was a grieving man under pressure, seizing at Chantry procedures to avoid a complete breakdown in the face of disaster was lost on the dragon within. Mercifully, Elisif's temper was still longer than Cassandra's.

“Follow you?” Cassandra cried. “You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat! We have an emergency to deal with and little time to deliberate! So yes, I will listen to what Elisif has to say, because so far she has been more help in this whole crisis than the entire Chantry priesthood!” Turning away, she turned to Elisif, arms folded. “Well? Are we charging down the demons or taking the back route.”

Elisif looked at the route up ahead, thinking of all the soldiers prepared to give their lives to clear a path if she went that way. Nords would have gone to Sovngarde if they died, but she had no idea about the afterlife and cultural beliefs of these people… and she couldn't order them into battle without that, not when there was another option. Also it wasn't out of the question she could save those scouts.

“Come on,” she said. “Let's investigate that side route.”

“As you wish,” Cassandra said curtly, but she didn't object, and no one else was in any position to stop her. The Chancellor appeared to have given up. And so Elisif led her party of four on the road to the Temple of Sacred Ashes… or what was left of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be following shortly, in which Elisif saves the day... but the newly-convened Inquisition High Command are trying to work out just what they've got in their midst.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the immediate crisis sorted out, it's time to rest and recover... and while Elisif is doing that, the newborn Inquisition Inner Council gathers for the first time, and no member of that council got the job because they were stupid, leading to emotional reactions all round as Thedas starts to realise it's not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second half of Elisif's arrival in Thedas! It is a bit talky, but then again, so were all those Inquisition war councils in game so it's not like it's not true to canon... I am not replicating all the game dialogue mainly because I can't remember it, so I've basically opted for writing something similar to what was in game instead. Will hopefully make it more interesting for you lot as well.

It was all going so well at first. True there'd been a lengthy climb up ladders and then demons lurking in tunnels, but they were easily dealt with when a Dragonborn was leading the party, and then out into the sunshine where the first bodies appeared.

“Are they your scouts?” Elisif asked, dreading the answer.

“Some, but this can't be all of them, we must keep looking,” Cassandra answered, moving grimly on. Sure enough, the rest of the scouts turned out to be fighting demons, spindly mantis-like ones that had a nasty habit of diving into the earth and emerging to up end the unwary, as Elisif found out to her cost.

Cursing at them under her breath, Elisif staggered to her feet before charging back into the fray again, and before long the demons were gone, Elisif was sealing the rift and Cassandra was debriefing the lieutenant in charge.

“The way behind us is clear, get yourselves back to camp,” Cassandra was telling her. “I believe we can deal with isolated pockets of demons ourselves.”

“Yes, Seeker,” the lieutenant gasped, shooting sidelong glances at Elisif. “I say, Seeker, is that her? The prisoner? And she really just closed the rift?”

Cassandra sighed then nodded.

“Yes. That's her. And she can seal rifts. We're going to see if she can manage the Breach as well.”

“Wow,” the lieutenant whispered. “We heard you'd just fallen out of the Fade! Do you remember anything about it?”

“Not really,” Elisif admitted. “There was this woman who told me my help was needed and brought me here. I don't remember anything else. Only that I've got this mark now.”

Excited whispering from the scouts, and Elisif caught the word “Andraste!” in among all that, before the lieutenant actually saluted.

“Maker bless you, milady,” the lieutenant breathed. “If you can close the Breach, all Thedas owes you a debt.”

Thedas! This place had a name! Well of course it did, but Elisif felt somehow better able to think about this place now she knew its name. Thedas. Presumably a name for the whole land. Which didn't preclude other nations within it of course. 

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered, and the scouts took their leave. Elisif wondered if she should be worried about the near-worshipful looks they'd been giving her… before deciding, no, if she was eventually going to end up on trial for murdering a high priestess, she could do with all the help she could get, and her own cult demonstrating outside the courtroom would definitely be useful.

Then on to the Temple and if Elisif had been surprised before, what she saw here shocked her. The charred bodies, jagged magical rocks jutting upwards, entire rooms just _flattened_ … this had been a building once, a temple even. Now look at it.

“Mara, what happened here?” Elisif gasped. “This is _awful!_ ”

“This is what's left after the explosion that destroyed the Temple,” Cassandra said grimly. “We found you near here – the soldiers who found you saw you stagger out of a rift and seal it before collapsing unconscious. Some of them claim there was a woman behind you – no one knows who she was.”

Elisif fell silent, wondering what on earth had happened here and how she'd survived it. Had Kyne-Flemeth protected her? She had no idea, but she had a feeling the woman in the Fade had been someone else. She didn't know who though.

So she followed Cassandra through the ruins, trying not to look at the corpses or vomit due to the smell, and up ahead she could see more soldiers staking out the Breach. Looked like some of Cassandra's people had made it.

“Cassandra!” Leliana, carrying a bow and arrows, and with her own guards, clearly having got here somehow. Had the troops in the valley charged anyway? Seemed they'd been victorious if so. 

“Leliana, what news?” Cassandra asked.

“No change, but we cleared a way here,” Leliana said grimly. “Solas, I hope this theory of yours works. The Breach is that way.”

Elisif turned to look, eyes travelling inevitably upwards until she saw the Breach far above her, green light making everything look sickly, and rocks – actual rocks! - were hovering in the air around the Breach itself – and not just the Breach. A damaged statue of a woman in a cloak was hovering too, the head severed from the rest… and Elisif couldn't help but notice the crown on her head. Straight circlet, but a point in the middle – same as the one Flemeth had worn.

“Who's the statue of?” Elisif said softly. “She looks like the woman who brought me here.”

Silence and Elisif slowly turned round to see stunned faces all round and two of the soldiers actually kneeling.

“Andraste,” Cassandra said, exchanging shocked looks with Leliana, and Varric had his parchment out again, scribbling notes, muttering that this just got better and better. “The Bride of the Maker.”

“Oh,” Elisif whispered, wondering whether she should remind them she'd called on one of her own gods for help, but she had a feeling it wouldn't change anything. They'd all grown up believing the only true god was their Maker and Andraste was his Bride and Prophet, and likely the most visible representation of godhood. That Andraste might have other names and identities, or even that Kyne might have incarnated as a Thedosian woman called Andraste if she wanted, probably wouldn't occur to them. The godless heathen from the land of savages might call on one of her own gods but she'd obviously be answered by the real god, wouldn't she?

Elisif began to wonder if they were even right. But that was ridiculous, surely. And at any rate, they had bigger problems. Solas appeared to be the one member of the party not fazed by this revelation.

“Shall we try and get the Breach closed?” he said calmly, indicating not the hole in the sky, but the rift at the base of the Andraste statue. Elisif slowly followed his gaze to it.

“We can't get close to the Breach itself, can we?” Elisif said quietly, wishing Odahviing was here. He could probably get her close to it… but Odahviing would have difficulty finding her out here. 

“No,” Solas told her, “but the rift at the base was the first… and is the key. Close that one and it may help with the Breach.”

That she could do. 

“Let's get down there then,” Elisif said. Anything to distract from them thinking she was some sort of saviour figure.

So they made their way along the walkway, Elisif hoping the floating rocks stayed up, and really the magic doing that must be immense. How much was pouring into the world, Elisif didn't want to think about.

Elisif rounded the corner, seeing more glowing Fade rocks, red these ones, warm and… singing?

“What is that stuff?” Elisif gasped, the singing vibrating in her mind, calling to her, crooning at her, promising warmth and safety and power and blood and... She'd have reached out to touch it were it not for Varric grabbing her am and hauling her back.

“Don't go near it, Blue-eyes!”

Elisif stopped, the song shifting, changing to the enraged howl of a dragon spurned, and Elisif fought the urge to vomit, her insides roiling as she staggered away, leaning over the parapet until it faded away. Evil singing magic rocks. What next??

“What is it?” Elisif whispered. “What – I mean, what? I don't feel so good...”

“You'd have felt a lot worse if you'd got any closer, trust me!” Varric snapped, and Elisif didn't resist as he steered her clear. “It's red lyrium, and it's evil! Don't touch it.”

Elisif didn't need telling twice. But that didn't really answer her question.

“But what is it? It looks like magic rock – not good magic either.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Varric laughed bitterly. “Look, all you need to know is that it's evil, will drive you mad if you're around it for long enough, and does weird shit. We found some in an old dwarven thaig further below ground than anyone's ever gone. How it got here is anyone's guess. Any ideas, Seeker?”

“Our people know to avoid it,” Cassandra said tersely, which was as good as an admission of ignorance. Still, there was worse advice to be had. Elisif moved on, steering clear of future outcrops of red lyrium, and then they all had other things to worry about as a man's voice rang out.

“Keep the sacrifice still!”

“Who's that??” Elisif whispered to Varric, who just shrugged. It was Solas who answered.

“At a guess, whoever created the Breach. The lyrium must have recorded memories of the Breach's creation,” Solas murmured. Then a woman's voice, and something in it sounded familiar to Elisif.

“Someone, help me!”

“That's Most Holy!” Cassandra cried and Elisif broke into a sprint, seeking the source of the voice. She followed the path down towards the rift, leapt into the courtyard, and then the vision became clear.

A dark shadow with glowing red eyes; a woman in red, white and gold robes, suspended in the air by magic, a helpless prisoner. Divine Justinia presumably.

“Someone, help me!” Justinia cried again, and then Elisif got the shock of her life when an illusory version of herself appeared, Dawnbreaker drawn, shield at the ready.

“What's going on here?” Illusion Elisif shouted, all righteous anger… until her eyes fell on the shadowy figure and her expression turned to one of horror.

“What in the Void are you??” she cried, and Justinia turned to look at Elisif.

“Run while you can, warn them!” Justinia gasped, seeming to trust in Elisif somehow, or at least not wanting her to be hurt. Alas for Justinia, no Nord had ever run from a fight yet, and Elisif didn't move, circling around the shadowy figure with weapons ready and showing no intention of running. The shadow didn't take the hint to flee while it still could.

“Kill the intruder!” the shadow ordered, and Illusion Elisif raised her shield, Dawnbreaker poised to strike… and then the vision faded.

“I don't remember any of this!” Elisif whispered, wondering what in the Void had happened, and how she could just _forget_ something so horrific she'd had that expression on her face. Reanimated corpses, Falmer, all the things they'd found in Castle Volkihar, all those things appalled Elisif. But whatever she'd seen had been something else, and that the memory had just gone… She didn't know what was going on but she knew something was very very wrong.

“None of it??” Cassandra demanded. “Elisif, you do not just forget a thing you looked at like that!”

“I know!” Elisif cried, frustrated. Keirine would know. Eola would know. Madanach might have known at one time. Elisif wished he was here, strong and capable as he once was, ready to take on the world with her. But he wasn't.

“Ugh!” Cassandra growled, clearly sharing her frustrations. “Never mind. One thing is clear at least – you did not kill Most Holy. Someone else was there, someone she did not expect, and they were going to… and then she called out to you. She trusted in you to help, and you stood your ground and did not flee. And you are the one who survived. If Most Holy believed in you, then how can we not do likewise?”

Elisif looked up to see that Cassandra was actually serious, even smiling a little – only a little, but then again this was no laughing matter.

“What?” Elisif whispered. “You… believe me?” Cassandra nodded.

“Yes. Do not look so surprised, I am not completely unreasonable. I know when to admit I am wrong.”

“So… no trial?” Elisif asked hopefully. Cassandra shook her head.

“No. Not when you're clearly not guilty. Indeed, that vision proves beyond doubt that of all the people who might have murdered Most Holy, you weren't involved. The perpetrator called you an intruder and ordered his minions to kill you. Clearer proof of innocence we could not ask for.”

“What about your Chancellor friend?” Elisif asked shrewdly. Yes, plenty had seen this vision, but would those who were not here believe it? Cassandra just rolled her eyes.

“Chancellor Roderick is going to be a pain in our collective rears, this is clear,” Cassandra sighed. “But I do not answer to him. I answered to the Divine and with Most Holy gone, there's no other to give me orders. I am loyal to the Maker and to the principles on which the Chantry was built, Elisif, and I must do what is right, not what Chantry politics asks of me.”

Elisif wasn't sure what to say, although she could feel herself blushing. It wasn't common to find someone who'd defy their entire order because of what they believed in. Elisif guessed it helped that said order was presently leaderless and in chaos. If it meant they weren't going to execute her, Elisif was all right with that.

“Shall we get this rift sorted out then?” Elisif said, turning to the green scar in the world… and wondering what to do with this one. It wasn't spewing out demons like the others, so what did you do with it? She turned to Solas, hoping he'd have answers. As always, he did.

“I believe this one is sealed, Elisif,” Solas said calmly. “If you use your mark, you should be able to re-open it… but be wary, that will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons!” Cassandra shouted to the soldiers on the walls. “Be prepared!” 

Leliana had likewise gone to prepare the ones with her, and Varric had Bianca at the ready. Elisif waited until everyone was ready, and then lifted her hand, watching as green magic poured from it and the rift yawned open. Then a demon stepped through, a demon even Odahviing would have had to admit was big… and Elisif wondered if this was actually the right course of action. But she had no time to think about it. Now was the time to fight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Today had been a day like no other – a week like no other. Cassandra had known the Conclave would change everything, but she could never have predicted any of this, who could?

But the Breach was stable, and so was Elisif's mark, and while Elisif had collapsed just after sealing the rift, the healers had assured Cassandra that it was simply exhaustion and a few injuries that needed seeing to rather than anything too serious, and Solas had confirmed the mark was stable now. The world was, if not safe, at least not as badly off as it had been.

Haven too was stable – apart from the incidents when someone (not a professional, thank the Maker) had tried to sneak in and kill Elisif while she slept. Those responsible had been dealt with, and Cassandra had had Cullen increase the guard. But for the most part, the story in Haven was that Elisif had been sent through the Fade by Andraste, a skilled warrior sent to save them in their hour of need. Some called this heresy, but most had seen a Breach tamed if not sealed, had seen Elisif fight, and already they were calling her the Herald of Andraste. At this rate, someone would be starting a cult.

A problem for the morning. Right now, Cassandra was glad to get back to Haven and rest… but her day wasn't over just yet. Leliana had called a council to decide what to do next and so Cassandra had reluctantly foregone sleep to attend.

“So, we stabilised the Breach,” Cassandra sighed as she took her seat at the table in the Chantry's back office. Josephine, that new Ambassador Leliana had found from somewhere – Antiva was it?, was fussing round pouring drinks for the four of them, while Cullen vaguely waved her off once his tankard was full, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Leliana meanwhile was sitting at the far end from Cassandra, brooding under that hood of hers, and really, Leliana might be a spymaster but did she have to sit there exuding grimness the whole time? Cassandra had to wonder how she'd been a successful bard for years with that attitude.

“But not got rid of it,” Leliana said, eyes glittering in the candlelight. “And the backlash could have killed our Herald. We need to make sure any future attempts are better controlled.”

“Solas assures me that if we can channel the mark's power with more magic, it could be done safely,” Cassandra pointed out, although how much she trusted Solas on this, she wasn't sure. But he was all they had. “We just need more magic.”

“Which we don't have,” Cullen snapped, returning his attention to the table. “The negotiators for both the mages and the templars died at the Conclave, we've got no way of persuading either group to lend us their abilities. And if Chancellor Roderick's any indication, the Chantry are going to demand we either hand over this Elisif woman for trial or face excommunication. How am I supposed to keep morale up under those circumstances? Our soldiers aren't going to serve if it means being cut off from the Maker's light forever!”

A valid point but Leliana didn't seem to care, just rolling her eyes.

“You overestimate the power of the grand clerics, Commander,” Leliana said. “They can make proclamations but they don't actually get to decide who goes to the Maker's side. They're just human.”

“Then why have a Chantry at all?” Cullen snapped back. “You've spent too long in the Chantry hierarchy, Leliana. All you see is the politics, you don't see what the people on the ground do! For them, the threat of excommunication isn't a political setback or social humiliation, it's a real threat to their immortal souls!”

“I've got eyes on the ground, Commander, and I do know what the Chantry teaches!” Leliana cried, and this was about to get nasty… and then Josephine, golden shirt gleaming in the light of the candle on her clipboard, revealed that there was something more under all that finery than one might think.

“From what I've heard, the situation is not as bad as you think,” Josephine said, and Leliana gave her her full attention immediately, and even Cullen was calmed a little by her voice. “Leliana, the faithful do bear the Chantry great love – a threat of excommunication will be taken seriously. However, it's also true that the Chantry's leader is the Divine – a Divine no longer with us. Without a new one, the Chantry cannot make any authoritative pronouncements one way or the other, and any threats can and will be challenged. Peasants and workers might be cowed by the grand clerics, but I assure you that influential nobles will be rather harder to threaten, and are very used to playing the system. If we can gain some noble allies, they can work with us to keep the Chantry disunited enough that they don't harm us.”

“If!” Cullen snorted, clearly not impressed with the new arrival. “We're not going to persuade any noble worth having to back us if our army's in disarray because they've just been declared heretics destined to wander the Fade for all eternity!”

“The Chant of Light says belief in the Maker is what will lead you safely through the paths of this world and the next, not a writ from the Clerics,” Leliana said, narrowing her eyes. “And you can be sure I will have the Chantry mothers loyal to us preaching that very message to our people. Besides, we have something better than the Chantry. We have the first sign of the Maker intervening in events since Andraste's death. Who needs Chantry clerics when you have a Herald?”

“Maker, not this again,” Cullen moaned, with the air of a man who'd heard all he cared to on that subject just lately. “We don't know where she came from, only that she turned up with a mark that sorts out rifts and stabilised the Breach. Helpful, yes, but for all we know she's involved.”

Cassandra decided she'd had enough and got to her feet, staring down all three of them.

“I believe in her,” Cassandra said firmly, remembering the vision at the Temple and recalling the Seeker's intuition that had told her then and told her now, that Elisif was what she seemed and more. “You were not at the Temple, Cullen, you did not see what Leliana and I saw, what a good portion of your own soldiers saw. We saw the creator of the Breach in the process of sacrificing the Most Holy, Elisif interrupting and reacting with horror before preparing to fight, and Most Holy's captor ordering Elisif's death. And you also did not hear her story on the road to the Temple, that she petitioned her own gods for healing for her husband, and a woman appeared and brought her here. A woman bearing a resemblance to our statues of Andraste.”

Cullen was staring at her in disbelief, shaking his head and Cassandra knew he was disillusioned with the Chantry, but honestly, she would have thought his faith a bit stronger than that.

“Cassandra, those statues are just what we think Andraste looked like, they're not necessarily true,” Cullen sighed. “None of this means Elisif was actually chosen by Andraste to come here and save us from the Breach.”

“No, but people will believe that,” Leliana said, calculating smile starting to appear, and trust Leliana to think more on how to play this politically rather than what this meant for their faith. Cassandra would never question Most Holy's judgement and she was sure Leliana had served the Divine loyally and well as Left Hand… but there were many times when Cassandra really didn't understand or approve of Leliana's methods.

“Indeed, my agents tell me many in Haven already do, and the story is spreading,” Leliana continued, grinning. “Of course, some are still sceptical and others say if Elisif is truly blessed, why couldn't she close the Breach entirely, but those who have heard the story of how she claims she got here are considering it. Many believe it wholeheartedly. Just as they needed to blame someone for the Divine's death, so are they now coming to see her as the hero who will save them. They call her the Herald of Andraste, a mighty warrior with a sword of flame who will purge corruption from Thedas and seal the Breach once and for all. We let that story spread – and it will be difficult to stop it – and the Chantry's opinion won't matter. We'll have the blessing of Andraste herself on our side. Who will truly believe that the Maker will blindly follow the word of a few clerics over the champion Andraste herself has sent to us?”

Cassandra met Leliana's eyes across the table, saw the delighted gleam in them, and realised that despite differences of opinion over methods, Leliana wasn't so lost to faith as she'd thought, because this line of reasoning wasn't so far from Cassandra's own opinion. 

Of course, some around the table were still not convinced.

“She needs to keep up the heroic deeds then,” Cullen said, sitting back with his arms folded. “And this plan of Solas's to close the Breach had better work. No one is going to believe we have Andraste's personal emissary if she turns out to be completely incompetent.”

Cassandra and Leliana, who had both seen Elisif fight, shot amused looks at each other before turning back to Cullen.

“I don't think that will be a problem,” Leliana said smoothly. “She seems like a genuinely brave and honourable person, and she has skills to enforce her will if necessary. She certainly made an impression on my people.”

“If we give her the support she needs, she can save us all, I have no doubt of that,” Cassandra said, wondering why Cullen couldn't just knuckle down and do as told for once. He was an adept military commander and the best they could find at short notice… but insufferably stubborn. Cassandra did, however, concede the point that Elisif needed to keep up the heroism – but she also didn't think this would be a problem. Time would prove her right, she supposed. If it didn't, they wouldn't be around long enough to live with the outcome.

“I for one don't doubt you, Lady Seeker,” Josephine said, dark curls falling around her face as she tilted her head respectfully in Cassandra's direction. A blatant attempt to curry favour in Cassandra's mind – wasted on a woman who never bothered with diplomatic niceties, but Cassandra's Seeker senses were telling her there was no deceit here. The respect was genuine, and so Cassandra took it as it was meant. Someone had to be nice to visitors after all, and she was just glad it was not her job.

“However,” Josephine was saying. “Claiming she was sent by Andraste will only get us so far. Unless we are prepared to officially go on record as saying every word out of her mouth is the word of Andraste herself, we need to present a story, a biography of her as a person. To do that… we need to know her better than we do. She speaks our language fluently, yet had to have the basic details of the Chantry explained to her. She's given titles that sound impressive but belong to no known land. Her name sounds Avvar, and she's certainly built like one – you all noticed she was tall for a woman and the same height as many of the men. And Leliana tells me she barely noticed the cold. All of this screams Avvar warrior – but she is sword and shield trained, accustomed to heavy armour, and the Avvar favour light fur and leather armour and two-handed weapons. And then there's this. I took the liberty of borrowing from her coin purse – I will be sure to recompense her as soon I can work out the rate of exchange.”

Shiny gold coins, three of them, clinked on to the table and Cassandra reached for one, as did Leliana and Cullen, and it felt a bit like an Orlesian Royal – same sort of size, gold-coloured, but that was not the Valmont crest on the back, nor was that the head of Empress Celene on the front, and Cassandra could read none of the writing. But it did look like a coin, with a man's head on one side and a strange stylised dragon on the other. 

“Is it Tevinter coinage?” Cassandra said, squinting. They had dragons on everything, didn't they? But Cassandra had never heard of Avvar living that far north, and she knew instinctively that it wasn't Tevinter.

“No, their dragons curve more, this is a lot more stylised,” Cullen said, frowning. “I can't even recognise this language, what is it? Ambassador?”

Josephine took a deep breath and lowered her eyes as if about to deliver some bad news.

“I don't know,” Josephine admitted. “It's no language I recognise, no heraldry I recognise. And yet it's coin. I took the liberty of giving a couple of coins to a Carta representative in the village to test, and she told me there was sufficient gold in there for it to be legitimate coinage, wherever it's from. Counterfeiters use far higher percentages of base metals, and more importantly, they copy real coinage from a recognised country. This is no country we recognise. It's real coin and it's from somewhere we don't know a thing about. And they have people there kin to the Avvars somehow, yet trained in similar techniques to Orlesian chevaliers. And they are no barbarians. They have currency, and I would be surprised if Elisif could not read and write. She's also very well-armed. Leliana, you said she was noble, that her weapons and armour were expensive and not routine issue. And that dragon-tooth crown was intended as a badge of office for a warrior king or queen.”

“She did not like me touching it,” Leliana recalled, rueful grin in place. “I would not want to be the one to try and take it from her.”

Cassandra massaged her forehead as she finally let it sink in that they were dealing not with some mysterious stranger, but with a representative of an entire nation of which they knew nothing – and if that nation came looking for its lost High Queen – Jarl? Imperial Heir? They could be in trouble.

“She was telling Varric some of her story,” Cassandra admitted. “She did not inherit her throne from her parents. She had to fight for it. She ended up in a truly horrific prison thanks to the machinations of whatever Game they play over there, was forced to ally with the leader of a faction of rebels in order to survive, escaped and then ended up defeating her main rival in single combat while her ally's army ransacked his city. Do not think she is some cosseted noble princess. She is an accomplished warrior-queen and the skills I saw bear her story out. And… there is more. Her people do not know the Chant. They have never heard of Andraste. They have Eight gods, worshipped across the entire land, which by the way comprises many kingdoms, and… they consider all races children of the Eight. Elves do not live in alienages, they live and work alongside humans and hold jobs at all levels of society. She appeared unfamiliar with dwarves but did not condescend to Varric at any point. Indeed, I think they're becoming friends. Solas also thinks highly of her, and at no point did I see her react to him being an elf… or a mage. Wherever she's from, they have magic too – and I do not believe they fear its use.”

“They don't have Circles,” Leliana breathed. “I mean, of course they don't. They have eight gods! Each with its own priesthood most like – they don't have religious unity. No one voice telling them what to do. One god might rail against magic, but what if the others don't agree? They couldn't organise enough to enforce Circles even if they feared magic! And Elisif clearly doesn't.”

Which was insane – not the lack of magic fear but the eight gods and eight priesthoods. How did they get anything done?? What did they do about heretics and apostates? 

Cassandra had a horrible feeling that they simply… didn't. And Cullen clearly shared her views.

“That's ridiculous!” Cullen snorted. “No civilised society can function with eight gods. The religious debates alone would rip it apart, if they even got that far.”

“The ancient elves had eight gods,” Leliana warned him, eyes flashing in the candlelight. “Tevinter had seven. They all managed to build Empires.”

“Yes, and Tevinter abandoned their gods for the Maker eventually, and look what happened to the elves,” Cullen pointed out. “Proves my point. Look, someone needs to keep order. If they don't have a Chantry providing moral guidance, who stops anarchy breaking loose? An entire continent of several nations must be at risk of war constantly without something telling them what to do.”

“We have several nations and a Chantry, and war breaks out all the time,” Josephine said, indicating the map of Southern Thedas on the table. “All this used to be part of Orlais until Ferelden rebelled, and that was less than a human lifetime ago. We have had Exalted Marches, the Free March cities are always squabbling, Nevarra has warred with Orlais as often as Ferelden has, the Game almost counts as a very polite civil war in its own right, and the only reason Antiva has not been invaded is thanks to tireless diplomacy and the services of the Crows. All this with a Chantry. Yes, the Divine sometimes intervenes as arbiter, and shared religious beliefs have probably ensured things haven't been worse, but there are other ways of establishing common ground. And as for who keeps order...” Josephine lifted the coin she'd kept and turned it so the man's face was visible. “Perhaps we need look no further than the man on this coin.”

“We don't know a thing about him,” Cullen started to say, and Cassandra was honestly behind him on this one – even if his name was on the coin, they couldn't read it. But Leliana seemed to have other ideas.

“We know who he is not,” Leliana said, scrutinising the coin carefully. “He is a man important enough to be on the currency, and yet a woman who gave her title as High Queen of Skyrim, among others, does not appear on her own coinage. It's a strange ruler indeed who doesn't appear on their own currency.”

_Maybe it's not her currency._ Ridiculous, why would you have a coin purse full of a foreign nation's coin. Or maybe she was a new ruler, and this was her predecessor's coin. But she hadn't inherited her throne peacefully, and the coins looked new.

“She also said she was Jarl of Solitude and Imperial Heir of Tamriel,” Cassandra said, recalling the titles Elisif Dragonborn had declared. “Is she a noble in more than one place? Ruler of one land but subordinate somewhere else?”

“No one calling themselves High Queen of anywhere would be subordinate, would they?” Cullen asked, by now completely out of his depth. Give him something to invade and he was fine, but ask him about diplomatic subtleties and he was lost. Cassandra wasn't a lot better, but she'd had a noble upbringing and her job as Right Hand had involved a certain amount of political awareness. Not a lot, but some.

“Even a High Queen might swear loyalty to another,” Cassandra said, staring at the coin. “She said she was Imperial Heir of Tamriel. From the way she spoke of Tamriel, I think it might be the entire continent, or a large chunk of it.”

“They have an Empire,” Leliana breathed. “By the Maker, that's why they don't need a Chantry. Maybe there were wars in the past, but they had a victor. One nation triumphed and founded an Empire… and Elisif's heir to it.”

Stunned silence, and Cassandra hoped she looked better than Leliana did, and poor Josephine looked like she was about to faint. Cullen was the sole holdout, as always.

“That's rubbish,” Cullen said, gesturing at the coin in front of him. “I thought you said she had to fight for her throne, and got arrested at one point? The scion of a stable and wealthy Empire doesn't have to fight for anything, surely?”

“There is clearly more we are not aware of,” Leliana said carefully, unwilling to admit she was wrong but clearly conceding the point – so maybe Tamriel wasn't as stable as they all thought. “I will need to ask her.”

Cassandra had a feeling they'd not get answers that comforted them. Elisif had spoken of being happy, of there being peace and time to raise one baby and talk of having another, of a marriage that had been happy until her husband got ill. She had not spoken of any sort of war or conflict or natural disaster or mass poverty since she took her throne.

“She was the one to bring peace,” Cassandra said quietly, knowing in her heart this was the truth, or close to it. “If there was any instability, she dealt with it when she took the throne. I do not believe she is the blood daughter of the Emperor. I do believe she was declared Heir because she united warring factions and because people will follow her to the death if she asks. She has been conscious here barely a day and already people think she is the Herald of Andraste. She shouts at the world and it does as she asks. If she is Heir to an empire, it is because there are no other obvious candidates and the current Emperor feels it better to have her on his side than potentially being a focus of attention for rebels.”

Silence and this time even Cullen wasn't arguing, just staring at the map, a man out of his depth and not even bothering to hide it this time. Leliana was the calmest present, no doubt trying to calculate all the angles while Josephine… Josephine's normally light-brown complexion had gone pale.

“We're playing host to the heir of an Empire??” Josephine whispered. “Blessed Andraste, we have made no preparations, we don't even know her customs, her cultural taboos, the correct form of greeting, Maker what if we've unknowingly offended her already?”

“Josie...” Leliana began, getting up and walking round the table to comfort her, taking Josephine by the shoulders to steady her. “Josie, stop it, this won't help...”

“She's Heir to an Empire, Leliana, if we don't do this right, we could lose everything!” Josephine cried. “We could be in more danger from this Empire of Tamriel than the demons!”

“Josie...” Leliana said softly, trying her best to soothe her. “Josie, it's not that bad.”

“It could be a thousand times worse!” Josephine cried, sinking into a chair looking as if her world had ended. “Maker help us all.”

“Worse than a hole in the sky that was spitting out demons?” Cullen scoffed, although Cassandra could see subtle signs of worry.

“They have Legions,” Cassandra put in, just to unnerve him that bit more. “Not an army. Not just one legion. Legions. More than one. Likely assisted by magic. We would need an Exalted March to stand against a Tamrielic invasion, and that is exactly what we cannot provide with no Divine. Take this seriously, Cullen, because Thedas is unstable enough without a hostile foreign power preaching an alternative to the Maker.”

“So what do you suggest,” Cullen said grimly, folding his arms as he turned to face her. “This isn't a matter of tactics – we don't even know what theirs are. It's more than a matter of protocol too. The Chant says that when it's sung from all corners of the world, the Maker will return; and the world just doubled in size. And it sounds like this new half of the world won't just let us convert them.”

“Ugh,” Cassandra growled, also wondering how that problem would play out… but the Chantry itself was in no position to do anything, wasn't that the point? And they had more immediate problems than Tamriel's Legions. “It's irrelevant. And not our problem. We cannot worry about the Legions of Tamriel until they invade. Right now, we have a Breach to worry about, a Chantry that currently think we're the enemy… and a Tamrielite noble who so far has helped us. Ambassador, she is a warrior-queen who had to fight for her title, she will not care if you violated some obscure protocol. Commander, we are here to restore order in Thedas and seal the Breach – the fate of the immortal souls of Tamriel's people is not our problem. A future Divine can deal with it. Tamriel is not invading, and if Elisif truly is the heir to their Empire, having her on our side can only benefit us. So we back her as Herald and protect her from her enemies, take down the Breach together, treat her as an honoured guest while she's here, and when she returns home, or if her people come searching for her, she can tell them all to stand down, we are not enemies.”

Cassandra looked round, wondering if they were all on side with this, and was pleased to see no one was arguing, in fact they were looking thoughtful.

“I can certainly arrange the best hospitality for her,” Josephine said thoughtfully. “Befriending her and finding out more about her home would be simple now we know there's a husband and a child – I'll be sure to ask her about her family. Everyone loves talking about their children. You can learn so much about a person from what they tell you about their little ones.”

“And when news of Tamriel gets out?” Cullen said, still frowning. “We don't want a panic on our hands.”

“Then we keep it quiet,” Leliana said, already plotting. “We speak with her when she wakes up and ask her to play her origins down, and we make sure the story is Andraste bringing her through the Fade to help us, not where Andraste brought her from. When they do ask, just tell them she's from an obscure Avvar tribe. Hardly anyone but a few traders and scholars know anything about the Avvar anyway, only that they're mountain barbarians. No one will question it.”

Cassandra breathed a sigh of relief and so the meeting broke up, a strategy formed. It just remained to be seen if the Herald would go along with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Elisif woke up, she definitely wasn't in a cell this time. This accommodation was more along the lines of a wooden cabin, with a fire blazing and various storage chests and a writing desk, and Elisif herself was tucked up in a nice comfy bed with a pretty blue quilt.

Well, this was nice? Elisif sat up, rubbing her eyes, wondering how she'd got her. All her things seemed to be here, neatly set out in the corner, and all in all, it didn't appear she was a prisoner. Looks like they'd upgraded her to guest.

The door opened and a young elf girl walked in carrying a crate and promptly shrieked and dropped it on seeing she was awake.

“Wait!” Elisif cried, feeling immediately guilty. “Don't be scared, I won't hurt you!”

Seeing the elf drop to her knees and prostrate herself was not an improvement.

“Oh gods no, please get up,” Elisif said, feeling rather desperate. “Look, where am I and what happened?”

“You – you're in Haven, milady,” the elf gasped. “That's the village near the Temple of Sacred Ashes. They say – they say you stopped the Breach swallowing the world, ma'am!”

She had? Well, that was something. And her mark was no longer expanding. It was just glowing. A little unnerving if Elisif was honest, but she'd live with it.

“They're saying she sent you, Worship!” the elf was saying, her voice verging on reverence. “Andraste herself, bringing you across the Fade to help us!”

_It wasn't Andraste!_ Elisif wanted to cry. Except she had a feeling the elf wouldn't believe her, and from the sound of it, the horse had well and truly bolted on this one.

“How long have I been out for?” Elisif whispered, dreading the response to this one. The elf hesitated, clearly picking up on her anxiety, but she did eventually answer.

“Three days, your Worship,” the elf gasped. “Lady Cassandra said to notify her at once when you woke up. At once, she said!” 

The elf got up and scurried out without another word, leaving Elisif trying to process all this. Your Worship?? She'd got a _title?_ Here? 

Elisif mentally composed a letter home. _Dear Argis, I've been here three days and already I've saved the world and somehow earned a title. Please tell your father, and Kaie and Eola, and Sofie and Aventus and Maia…_

Elisif stopped at the mere thought of Maia. _Three days??_ She'd hardly ever been away from Maia that long before, not since Maia was a baby. Was she all right? Was she lonely? Missing her mama? Mama was missing her. There should be another bed in this room, a little bed with a little red-haired figure curled up in it (or more likely the covers scattered everywhere, and Maia herself up and about, running around or crawling into bed alongside Elisif for a morning cuddle).

Elisif wondered who was giving Maia her morning cuddle this morning. Well, she was in Markarth and safe, Sofie would be there, Maia would at least have someone to talk to. Elisif got up and availed herself of the basin and soap they'd left for her, before going to find her clothes.

Of course, it was then she realised that getting into her armour on her own was going to be a bit of a challenge with no housecarl.

_I need a housecarl. Or someone who can get me into my gear._ Would Cassandra know anyone? How did she manage? Elisif gritted her teeth and looked for any other clothing items that might do… and was surprised to find a set of fur armour in her size. It'd do. It was warm anyway. Looked like winter Forsworn gear, or Skaal-wear. So Elisif got dressed, equipped her weapons, placed the Jagged Crown on her head and headed out to explore the village.

She got the shock of her life to see what looked like the entire town lined up to greet her, soldiers and more Chantry people, mostly women, in those red and white robes, and ordinary townsfolk, including a few children, all lined up and watching intently.

“Is that her? Is that the Herald?”

“Ssh! Don't bother her! She'll hear you!”

“They say she can fling you to the floor with her voice alone and has a sword of holy fire – look, there it is! It really glows!”

“See that helm? Dragon's teeth. They say she killed the dragon herself.”

Elisif studiously avoided everyone's gaze and quickened her pace. In Solitude, Markarth, any city in Skyrim, she'd have been just fine, waving to her people, stopping to greet them, say hello to some excited children and coax the shyer ones, and stopping at the top of the city to address her fellow citizens, all turned out to see their High Queen.

Here, she had no idea what she meant to people. She wasn't sure they knew just yet. So she made her way up to the big building at the top of the village, clearly the focal point and probably where she'd find Cassandra who could stand them all down and get them back to work.

“…heard that mark of hers can seal rifts.”

“…shame it didn't work on the big one then. More than anyone else has done though.”

And then the building was there, with more of the red and white robed priestesses, all women from the look of it, all watching her suspiciously.

“Chancellor Roderick says the Chantry wants nothing to do with us!”

“That isn't Chancellor Roderick's decision, sister.”

Cassandra's comment about the Chancellor being a pain was looking to be quite prescient, and Elisif was not looking forward to the politics. Straightening up, she pushed the door open and entered.

It was a small hall, statues everywhere, little side alcoves, more priestesses and priests, someone chanting “the light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world...” and candles providing soft lighting everywhere. There were benches pushed to one side, as if this was often used as a lecture hall, or had been once, and red banners with a golden sun everywhere.

Elisif made her way to the back, seeing a door at the far end… and hearing Chancellor Roderick's voice.

“You cannot seriously be refusing to hand over a condemned criminal!”

“Condemned by who?” That was Leliana. “You? You don't have that authority, Chancellor.”

“Will you be so sanguine when the Grand Clerics are calling for her head?” Roderick shouted. Elisif could almost hear Leliana rolling her eyes.

“They aren't yet.”

“Oh they will,” Roderick growled. “They will when they hear what you're claiming! The Herald of Andraste? She murders the Divine and you elevate her to Prophethood??”

“She is not the equal of Andraste, Chancellor,” came the voice of another woman, accent light and fast and different again from the ones Elisif had heard so far. “But we believe her to have been sent in our hour of need, and her mark is the only thing that has helped against the Breach.”

“Her mark caused the Breach for all we know!” Chancellor Roderick shouted.

“We know otherwise!” Cassandra shouted back, fist hitting a table. “We all saw at the Temple – Leliana, me, many of our soldiers – the vision of Elisif standing up to the man trying to kill the Divine. He ordered his people to kill her. Of everyone present, Elisif is incontrovertibly not responsible for what happened.”

“You expect me to take your word for this, Seeker??” Roderick spat, commendably bravely considering Cassandra in full fury was an intimidating sight. Nevertheless, Elisif was no believer in letting other people fight on her behalf when she could lift a blade herself. So she stepped forward and flung the door open.

“Try asking for mine, Chancellor,” Elisif said, striding in like the High Queen she was, the Jagged Crown's weight reminding her she was no mere pawn, not any more, not _ever_ again.

Cassandra straightened up, actually seeming pleased to see her, and the hint of a smile was playing on Leliana's face too. Also at the table were two people Elisif didn't recognise, one a brown-skinned woman in a shiny blue and gold outfit with golden jewellery, clipboard and quill in hand, and the other an armour clad blonde man looking bored by the whole proceeding and as if he'd dearly like to hit Chancellor Roderick.

And of course, there was the Chancellor himself, fuming in his Chantry robes.

“Arrest her!” he barked at the two guards standing just inside the door. “Clap her in chains and take her to Val Royeaux immediately!”

Elisif's hand went to her sword, but thankfully Cassandra saved her from having to use it.

“Disregard that order and leave us,” Cassandra ordered, and both guards saluted with a fist to the chest, even nodding at Elisif, before turning and leaving.

“I'm not getting to see Val Royeaux then,” Elisif observed, trying not to grin at Chancellor Roderick's outraged expression.

“In that outfit? I should hope not,” Leliana replied, openly grinning. “We'd need to find you a tailor first. Don't worry, Josie and I know some good ones.”

“This is not a matter for tailoring!” Chancellor Roderick roared, and now the man in armour was trying not to laugh as well. Leliana gasped in mock-outrage.

“Chancellor, it is always a requirement to be well-dressed!” Leliana told him, smile still in place. Elisif decided she could definitely do with introducing this one to Cicero and Eola, they'd definitely get on. She could do with Cicero right now in fact. He had a way of deflating people's egos, in such a way that people couldn't rightly fight back. Of course, sometimes people had tried to hire thugs or assassins to get him in private. This had always gone very very badly, although Cicero was invariably pleased at the attention.

But the unofficial court fool wasn't here, and so Elisif was on her own.

“Am I to understand I'm still a suspect?” Elisif sighed.

“You absolutely are!” Roderick growled, turning to glare at her, which would have had more effect if she'd not been taller than him.

“She absolutely is not,” Cassandra snapped, bristling. “We all heard the voices at the Temple. What else could it mean?”

“It could mean anything!” Roderick cried. “Look, even if she is innocent, she can hardly be left to roam free. The Divine is dead, the Temple of Sacred Ashes destroyed, _someone_ is responsible! Who else could it be?”

“Many people,” Leliana said, smile fading. “If Elisif escaped, whoever destroyed the Temple might also have done, or have allies who yet live.” This was said with an especially pointed look at Chancellor Roderick, a look shared by the other three at the table, and so Elisif joined in. The Chancellor was smarter than he looked.

“I? I am a suspect?” he gasped, appalled and furious. Leliana nodded.

“Yes. You… and many others. Make no mistake, we _will_ be investigating.”

Chancellor Roderick tried and failed to make a coherent response, and then Cassandra slammed a book on the table, a book with an eye and sword on the cover.

“Do you recognise this, Chancellor?” Cassandra snapped. “It is a writ. From Most Holy.”

“The Divine is _dead,_ Seeker,” Roderick sighed, exasperated. “We must elect a new one with all haste, not cling to Justinia's memory. She would want us to move on.”

“Move on!” Leliana gasped, genuine pain and anger in her eyes. “Justinia's ashes are barely cold! And you know as well as I that electing a successor with all haste means in real terms we will be fortunate to have another Divine within three months. And you also know the most obvious candidates all died in the explosion. It will take a good deal longer than that!”

Cassandra took up the refrain, indicating the writ.

“If the Conclave failed, Most Holy's intent was to relaunch the Inquisition of old to restore order, and she tasked us with this before her death,” Cassandra said, her face grim. “So we will do this and our task will be to restore order and uncover those responsible for the Divine's death.”

“You would set up a rival to the Chantry itself?” Chancellor Roderick gasped. “A – a cult to this… Herald??”

“We have not asked her to join yet,” Leliana said, shrugging. Cassandra's eyes barely flickered.

“It is not a cult to anyone,” Cassandra growled. “This is the pursuit of justice and the protection of Thedas. The Herald's assistance would be invaluable but it is not essential. The Chantry's support would also be helpful… but it is not essential.”

“What is essential is saving the world from demons,” the woman with the clipboard put in, her voice gentle and persuasive. “We'd hope the Chantry would do the right thing and help us.”

“Help you?” Roderick laughed. “Help a group of heretics and murderers? I think not. I will be sending a full report on this to Val Royeaux. You'll be hearing from the Grand Clerics soon enough.” With that, he turned and was gone, the door slamming behind him.

“Well,” the blonde man said, in the silence that followed. “We got rid of him, that's something at least.”

“Hardly a benefit!” the woman in gold sighed. “We just lost Chantry support. And you two could have been a little more conciliatory. He was frightened, not hostile.”

“He was offering us nothing,” Cassandra said, brushing off her concerns. “If his help hinges on sacrificing the one person who can stop the rifts, then it is of no use to us. Elisif. It is good to see you up and about. Do not look so worried, no one in this room is advocating putting you on trial for anything.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Elisif said, looking warily about her. Yes, they seemed friendly, but what did they want?? Rifts sealed, presumably. She could do that at least. “So, this Inquisition you were talking about… what's an Inquisition?”

Cassandra glanced at Leliana, who stepped forward, inclining her head.

“The old Inquisition predated the Chantry,” Leliana told her. “In a world wracked by violence and chaos, the Inquisition hunted heretics and apostates, dangerous cultists who tried to harm ordinary people. When the Chantry was established by the then Orlesian Emperor, the Inquisition stood down and became the Seekers of Truth and the Templar Order. The Templars are an order of warriors in service to the Chantry who protect people from the dangers of magic. The Seekers kept an eye on the Templars, carried out investigative work, acted as a secret police for the Divine – Cassandra was one.”

“Once,” Cassandra said grimly. “When the war with the mages broke out, I could not support them with any honesty, and so I left.”

“Right...” Elisif whispered, head spinning as she tried to process all this. “Er… are there books? Short ones? Not too complicated ones? I might need to do some studying.”

“I'll find you some volumes on the Chantry and its history,” Leliana promised. “All you need to know is this Inquisition's intended to do something similar. Restore order. Stop the fighting, be it the mage-Templar war, demons, whoever opened the Breach… oh, and close the Breach. For which… we'll need your help.”

“My help,” Elisif said, raising an eyebrow, but in all seriousness, hadn't she seen this coming? “In what capacity, exactly? They're all saluting me outside, and that poor servant girl was terrified of me. They called me the Herald of Andraste, but I'm not sure what that means.”

“Nor are we, yet,” the woman in gold said, sounding somewhat nervous, but she was smiling. “But we're very happy to have you with us, Your Worship. If you are with us – but that is entirely your choice, my lady. You are not our prisoner.”

Elisif looked the speaker over, wondering who she was. Well-dressed, well-spoken, sounding different again from Cassandra and Leliana, neither of whom sounded local themselves. How big was this Thedas Empire anyway? Or was it the Orlesian Empire? Elisif didn't know and realised painfully how much there was to learn.

“Have we been introduced?” Elisif asked. “I don't think I know you. Do I?”

The woman actually dropped a curtsey and was it Elisif's imagination or did she sound nervous? “Forgive me, my lady. No, we've not met in person, although I have heard great things from Cassandra and Leliana. I am Josephine Montilyet, of House Montilyet from Antiva City, a place far to the north of here, and I'm serving at Leliana's request as the Ambassador of the Inquisition. The nobility of Thedas is a very singular sphere – those I'm not familiar with personally, I know through reputation. We will need the help of as many noble houses as possible in order to survive. Without Chantry support, we'll need their gold.”

Someone who knew the politics, thank the Eight. Better, someone to _handle_ the politics. Even better.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Montilyet,” Elisif said, bowing in return. “I look forward to getting to know you better – I don't know a thing about this country, you're going to have to tutor me. Or find someone who can. I'll try not to ask too many questions!”

To her amazement, Josephine actually blushed. 

“Oh, you can ask as many questions as you want, Your Worship!” Josephine breathed. “I'll do my best to answer. You are our guest, the least we can do is see you don't want for anything. To be honest, I'm more worried you'll get tired of our questions! You're a curiosity to many, Lady Herald.”

Elisif could imagine that, and she could also guess that for everything they told her about this Thedas place, they'd want something in exchange. Tales of Tamriel, perhaps? Which could be potentially treasonous… but only if she revealed the Empire's weaknesses. If she stuck to basic facts, known history, emphasised the Empire's strengths, played down the fact it had lost its territory over the years and still hadn't really recovered from the war with the Dominion (which might restart one day)… oh balls, the Dominion. Definitely not a good idea to mention them.

“Does that mean you're joining us?” Leliana asked hopefully. “Josie spoke the truth, you're not obliged to stay. But we can't protect you unless you're with us.”

“Because half the country thinks like Chancellor Roderick, or will do by the time he's done,” Elisif realised. “Whereas you need a Herald of Andraste to rally followers around.”

Cassandra and Josephine did not deny this, but Leliana actually laughed.

“Need? I suppose we do. But the story started when our soldiers saw a woman seem to send you from the Fade, and solidified once you said the statues of Andraste in the Temple looked like the woman who took you from home. Tales of you being the Herald are already spreading, and we couldn't stop them now if we wanted to – not that we've tried. You will attract attention, Elisif, not all of it wanted, no matter where you go. You might even acquire followers. But you'll also acquire enemies, and unless you can build a strong organisation to support you, you won't be able to fight them all. We can be that for you… but you need to commit to us.”

“Besides,” Cassandra added, looking knowingly at her, “I don't disbelieve that your aims are so different from ours. What do you gain from having a hole in the sky, after all? I believe you can see the bigger picture.”

Elisif could, that was the trouble. A hole in the sky, an Oblivion Crisis enfolding right before her eyes – she couldn't just leave this. Hadn't Kyne-Flemeth told her what she'd need to do would be obvious when she got there? Elisif looked down at the mark in her hand, still knowing nothing about it or how it got there, but knowing that it did close rifts… and might help. Elisif looked up at their faces, three women and the man she'd still not been introduced to.

“And what's your opinion on all this?” she asked him. “Are you with the Chancellor or Cassandra?”

The man burst out laughing.

“I'm still here, aren't I?” he grinned. “Commander Cullen, at your service, Herald. Cassandra persuaded me to lead the Inquisition's armed forces. Such as they are. I'll be the first to admit it's not a Tamrielic Legion, but give it time.”

That got Elisif's immediate attention – not that he led the Inquisition's military, but that he had some inkling of the Legion as a thing… and she belatedly remembered mentioning it in passing on the way to the Temple. Cassandra had been paying more attention than she'd thought.

“You've clearly been talking about me,” Elisif said, and Cassandra had the decency to blush.

“Josephine was not wrong about you being a curiosity,” Cassandra said quietly. “Here you are, talking of a whole new country, known to none of us, with armies and an Empire and elves treated equally and eight gods and… Elisif, if Tamriel's existence gets out, this could cause panic, and Thedas is panicked enough. Even we weren't sure if we weren't better off having executed you on the spot as a potential spy. But… my conscience tells me otherwise. If Tamriel is out there, we must face up to and deal with it, not run and hide.”

“That and… we worked out from your titles that your disappearance would not go unnoticed,” Josephine admitted. “My lady – your Worship – I don't know how you should be addressed, but is it true? You are the heir to a mighty Empire?”

Shit, fuck and bollocks. They'd worked it out – well, she had told them her titles. She only had herself to blame here… but at the same time, she was relieved to have it out in the open.

“Yes,” Elisif admitted. “And they will likely know I'm gone by now, and they will be looking. I don't know how long it will take to find me, but one day they will. My husband's family numbers several powerful mages, if anyone can find me, they can. The Empire's resources and the Reach's mages – they'll be coming for me. But don't worry. I'll make sure they don't hurt anyone when they arrive. But I'll need diplomatic contacts here so I can make sure no one in Thedas does anything stupid, and some soldiers of my own so people will actually listen to me, and I could use agents as well so we get warning of strange ships with a dragon on the banners, and...” She looked around the room, seeing nothing but understanding and determination on the faces around her and realised that all three of them were presently plotting scenarios already, but not ones that would necessarily harm her. She'd wanted allies? She might just have found them. 

“I think that means I'm in,” Elisif said quietly. “I mean, Kyne sent me here as a price for healing my husband, in order to help. She didn't say with what, but a hole in the sky needs dealing with. So I'll help you. If you help me. And give me a say in Inquisition decisions – anything questionable and I'm out.”

“Agreed,” Cassandra said, holding out her hand. “As long as you don't expect us to start serving Tamrielic interests over those of the people of Thedas.”

“I'm not here in any official capacity,” Elisif said, taking Cassandra's hand and shaking it. “Unless saving the world is my official job now, which… wouldn't be the first time, actually. All right, I'm in.”

Smiles all round, and Elisif finally felt her anxiety unwind. She was a long way from home, likely to face constant danger and excitement… but it looked like she wouldn't be doing it alone. Elisif Dragonborn was here to save the world again. Of course, learning a little more about this half of it wouldn't hurt, and as luck would have it, here was a map.

“So where are all these places, and where are we?”

She could almost feel Cassandra lose interest, and Cullen also seemed to have better things to do. Josephine however could barely contain herself, and Leliana seemed interested as well. And as Josephine pointed out Haven, then started talking about the Empire of Orlais and the Kingdom of Ferelden, Elisif settled in to listen. This promised to be fascinating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Josie and Cullen aren't in that scene in game, but I thought I'd get the intros out of the way all in one, seeing as I don't have dramatic cinematic cutscenes at my disposal, so here they are.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tir Nua expedition is under way, with Madanach leading a small party of experienced people into the unknown... and his five year old daughter. As predicted, nothing goes according to plan, and between the demons and the strange knights whose sole purpose appears to be slaughtering innocent magic users, the whole mission could be over before it's even begun. But it turns out Maia's not the liability she might seem, and this land, however dangerous, is not without friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still here? Good! This one finally brings everyone to Thedas, with a line-up consisting of one warrior, three mages, one rogue and a little girl with magic and the Thu'um, all heading to a land where everyone's scared of magic. Yeah, it goes about as well as you'd expect.

Out in the Fereldan Hinterlands, just north of Dwarfson's Pass, and a Fade rift twisted, sputtered, blazed with light, and then the wraiths twirling vaguely around it all went still at once before focusing on the rift intently.

The rift exploded with light and then an Orc in full heavy armour sprang through it, massive two-handed hammer in his hand as he swung it into the head of the nearest wraith, seeming heedless of five others all sending magic bolts his way at once.

Or four did at any rate. The fifth tried before jerking once then fading into nothingness as two deadly sharp knives pierced its chest, and the short redhead in black leather and a jester's hat that had been responsible cackled and turned to deal with the next. 

Then came the battlemage in black and gold leather armour gleaming with enchantments from the gold-feathered shoulders to the gold skulls at his kilt's belt, fire blazing in one hand while the other carried a terrified little girl in fur armour, who he put down as soon as he made it through to solid ground.

“FEIM!” the little girl cried, red curls bouncing behind her as she went ethereal and promptly ran off, cowering behind a nearby rock, watching wide-eyed as the father already regretting bringing her unleashed the full wrath of a Reach-King on the demons.

Last out of the rift were two women, one blonde wearing revealing fur armour and a silvery mask that had once belonged to a Dragon Priest, magic coming from one hand and a green-black mace of evil in the other, and a red-haired high elf in Destruction Master robes with a summoned blade and fire at her disposal. They both set about the one demon currently not being savaged by one of the men, and with the most vicious fighters the Reach and Skyrim had to offer all gathered together, the demons stood no chance.

As soon as all was quiet, the little girl broke cover and ran to cuddle her father.

“Daddy, there were monsters!” little Maia wailed, clinging tearfully on to Madanach. “You said it would be like the portal in Markarth, but there were monsters!”

Madanach hugged Maia and whispered an apology, but she was through it now and hopefully there wouldn't be any more now. But that there'd been creatures of Oblivion in the first place – not good. Keirine had warned him of the possibility, that spirits might be attracted to the portal at the other end. She'd brokered agreements with the local spirits in the Reach to leave travellers alone. Not so on the south of Nirn, and while her scrying had revealed lots and lots of natural holes or weak points in the Veil at the other end that her portal at Hag's End could connect with, she'd also warned of the possibility of attention once the protective corridor she'd established with one closed off.

The corridor had worked just fine, depositing them on solid ground on what he was near certain was Nirn, but what he'd not expected was to find demons _already there_. Which meant some idiot had just left a hole into Oblivion open for anything to wander into Mundus from, and when Madanach found them, he was going to wring their neck for being so fucking irresponsible – Maia was terrified, look at her!

“We got rid of the monsters, cariad, don't worry,” Madanach soothed. “We'll look after you.”

Next to him, Cicero was watching, looking grim.

“All right,” Cicero admitted. “Cicero is glad his own babies are not here. They are safe from demons at least.”

Also something – the display of tears, wailing and pitiful clinging that had accompanied Cicero's farewell to his children had been embarrassing to watch. The twins hadn't looked too happy either, but they'd coped bravely and made their parents promise to come back and tell them the story. Jorrvaskr's influence no doubt, but Madanach had been glad of it if it meant no hysterical wailing off them.

“Yeah,” Madanach said, drying Maia's eyes and hoping everyone here was safe too. Which Eola was supposed to be checking. 

“Hey, Da?” Eola called, worried. “Er, you might wanna look at this portal. It's… not closing.”

“What do you mean, not closing?” Madanach growled, trying to recall Keirine's copious lectures on the topic. “The Veil was Shouted into place by Akatosh and sealed with dragon blood to bind it in his covenant with Alessia, it self-seals if you banish the opening spell.”

Next to Eola was their other magical consultant as sent by Keirine, the steward of Hag's End who was taking a sabbatical in order to study this Tir Nua in detail. Liriel of Alinor wasn't quite who Madanach would have chosen, being a bit too distractingly pretty for his liking, but she was skilled with Destruction magic and also skilled in summoning bound weapons thanks to having done mandatory Thalmor basic training before her family got her into a magical research post. She was also a skilled healer, having been seconded to the Aldmeri medical divisions during the war, so Madanach supposed it could be worse, and at least she wasn't mindlessly parroting Thalmor propaganda at him.

Alas, not all traces of the attitude problem of the self-styled Highborn had disappeared.

“Yes, Madanach, we know,” Liriel snapped. “We're taught the same things in Alinor, and all experiments we've carried out indicate the Veil self-seals once the summoning is cancelled. Here, it is not. Matriarch Keirine's spell has stopped but the rift in the Veil remains.”

“What?” Madanach gasped. “That's impossible.” The Veil just didn't do that… did it? And yet he remembered old tales of a time before the Veil, where spirits could wander freely and it was easy to summon anything, in fact the trick was not getting possessed.

“Clearly not, father, because it is right here being possible,” Eola snapped. “Take a look.”

So Madanach did, with his admittedly limited knowledge of conjuration, and reluctantly he had to agree that Eola and Liriel were right. Here was a hole right into Oblivion, and they had no way of closing it because all their banishing spells assumed the Veil would just seal itself once the thing keeping it open was disposed of.

Absolutely nothing prepared them for a scenario where the Veil just had a hole in it, with nothing keeping it open.

“So, what you're saying, boss, is that we got no way of sealing that thing, and any minute some more of those wraith things – or something worse – might decide to come poking through it,” Borkul said, always one to cut straight to the point.

“Um,” was all Madanach said, remembering Keirine having been spoilt for choice for ready made entrances, and realising there must be more holes like this, and what in the Void was going on?? It took enough magicka to prise open a portal in the Veil long enough to summon one thing through, how much did it take to cause a rift like this?? To create more of them? This wasn't deliberate, surely??

Something was very very wrong on this side of the world, and if this was repeating all over the southern half of Nirn, no wonder they'd needed a Dragonborn. But for what?

Slowly, Madanach's eyes shifted to the tiny Dragonborn he'd brought with him, currently peeping out from behind him with Frogella clutched in the hand not currently clinging to his kilt.

 _Dear gods,_ why _did I ever bring you??_

Maia wrinkled her nose, staring at the rift intently, and Sithis only knew what her own still developing magical senses were telling her. But she looked focused, and her next words were entirely unexpected.

“Daddy, did you want me to Shout it shut for you?”

“What?” Madanach began to say, still not used to the concept of a five year old who could Shout… including making herself ethereal, sending things flying, sprinting up and down a room, making clouds go away, summoning storms, _breathing fire_ … Madanach had had several shots of jenever after Maia had confessed Odahviing had taught her half the Dovah tongue from the sound of it, and it turned out child Dragonborns with their still voraciously learning brains didn't need to absorb dragon souls either. They just learnt the language instinctively.

Madanach had nearly cried as he realised he was now in sole charge of a child in command of powers neither of them really understood, and that he couldn't easily dispel. But she was still his baby, and he still loved her, and anyone trying to hurt her would still be utterly destroyed at his hands, and secretly he was a bit proud to be the father of the world's only fire-breathing five year old.

“Yeah, go on then,” Borkul was saying to her. “Malacath knows no one else is offering anything.”

A bit unfair, but Madanach supposed it couldn't hurt. So Maia stepped forward and took a deep breath.

“STRIN!”

He'd heard her use that one before, giggling as it had closed doors and windows and cupboards and chests, and then Bex to open them again. At least until he'd told her to stop anyway… for a while, until she'd started doing it again, probably thinking he'd forgotten or put a time limit on “Maia, cut it out!”

Thankfully, Keirine's chilling rasp had put a stop to it permanently. Until now.

Madanach bit his lip, hand on Maia's back, feeling Cicero sidling up next to him, clutching his arm and whimpering a bit, while Borkul was at his other shoulder, and Liriel standing nearest to the rift, Eola just behind her, all staring intently as the Shout hit it.

The rift glowed and then, to everyone's relief and amazement, it began to seal, gaping hole narrowing into just a slit – not banished, but definitely sealed.

“YES!” Eola shouted, both fists punching the air while Liriel gasped in amazement, and behind Madanach Cicero squealed and Borkul patted his back and Madanach just stared in stunned amazement before glancing down at the little girl presently beaming up at him.

Madanach knelt down and scooped her up, kissing her on the cheek before cuddling her, forehead to hers.

“I did it, Daddy, look!” Maia whispered.

“You did it!” Madanach laughed, squeezing her. “Who's my talented little Dragon-Rider, hmm?”

Maia giggled, blushing as she snuggled in closer, and Madanach kissed her again before putting her down.

“All right,” he said, surveying the little group he'd brought with him. A loyal bodyguard who'd insisted on coming, an elven scholar who his sister swore would be an asset, two daughters, namely one tiny little Dragonborn witchlet and a fully grown spellsword dressed from head to toe in magical artefacts from one adventure or another… and the idiot son-in-law in the Dark Brotherhood gear and the ridiculous hat. As parties went, it was an odd little group but Madanach hoped it would get the job done.

“Now that the excitement is over,” Madanach continued, “we appear to have landed where Keirine was trying to get us, which is something. Longitude 180 degrees west of Hag's End, latitude approximately the same as Markarth except on the southern side of the world. As you can see, we have mountains, grasslands, a nice sunny day… I think it is early morning.”

“But it was teatime a minute ago!” Maia cried. “It can't be morning already!”

“Back home it is still teatime, or more likely early evening by now,” Madanach said, seeing Cicero and Borkul both struggling with this concept. “Here, it is morning. Because we are on the other side of a _round planet._ Do not make me summon an illusion of Nirn and the Sun again.”

Because frankly he'd done enough of staring at that planetary model of Liriel's to last a lifetime and he still wasn't sure about seasons. He'd only just managed to get his head around the idea that the moons would look upside down. 

_Everything is the other way around. It's day here when it's night back home, it's autumn here when it's spring back home, the moons are the wrong way up, it's cold in the south, not the north, oh, and the sodding Veil is wafer-thin and full of holes._

Madanach really wanted to go home. But the way behind was closed. 

Cicero was murmuring something to himself, clearly visualising the sphere to himself, while Borkul still looked confused but wasn't asking questions at least.

“Draw it for me later, yeah Cicero?” Madanach heard the Orc whisper and Cicero nodded. Madanach dearly hoped neither man was still labouring under the Sun-going-round-Nirn delusion – it had been hard enough to explain the concept of the world being round. In particular he'd had to convince Cicero that no, the world did not rest on the back of four mammoths nor was there a giant whale carrying the whole thing through space. Or for that matter a giant carting the world around on his back. Cicero had, on hearing this, asked so how did the world move then, and Madanach's explanation had started with space-time being curved and massive objects attracting each other, and ended with 'it just does, all right?' In the end, Liriel had taken over the explanations, and he'd left her to it. Whatever she'd told them, it seemed to have worked as they'd not asked since.

“But we've already been up for nine hours, one of us is five, which means in about four hours from now we're all going to be exhausted,” Eola said cheerfully. “Well, you are. Cicero and I can manage.”

“I am not carrying any of you,” Cicero added. “Maia, maybe. You three, no.”

“Well then, we make the most of what time we have,” Madanach said, reaching for his pack. “See if we can find a settlement, otherwise we carry on for as long as we can then make camp. We take it in turns to carry Maia if she gets tired.”

Maia was already rubbing her eyes, and with about two hours until her usual bedtime, they didn't have long before she'd have to be carried. But they'd get as far as they could in the meantime. If Madanach could just get a fix on Elisif's location… he thought it was off to what seemed to be the west, but there was a lot of magical interference making it hard to focus. Something else was off in that same direction, radiating magicka into the world, raw, near unharnessable power blasting through the Veil, as if there was a really big rift somewhere drowning out everything. If Elisif was close by it – although he sincerely hoped she wasn't – she'd be aware of little else.

A quick glance in one direction revealed the road leading to a gate with another green rift in front of it. No. Just no. So the other way it was then.

Tracking through grasslands and winding mountain paths, and this place was stunning, it really was. Fresh mountain air, sunshine – this really was one of Keirine's better aiming choices. Maia even rallied with all the new sights and sounds, darting off to look at flowers, especially a particular kind of bright red and green flower that caught her eye, as well as a spindly green herb with pointy leaves.

“Daddy, it's pointy, it looks like elf's ear, look!” Maia called and Madanach did agree it did look a bit like the Elves' Ear herb back home, a distant relative perhaps, and Liriel knelt down next to Maia so as to gather a few samples, excitedly whispering about how this was a whole new land, and none of this had ever been studied before, wasn't it fascinating!

Madanach idly wondered if there were people here already who might already have studied the local wildlife. It might save Liriel some work, although he had a feeling she wouldn't thank him.

And then things went rapidly to the Void as a troop of heavily armoured warriors with a fiery sword on their chestplates stepped out of the trees.

Too well armed to be bandits, but soldiers of the local lord just wouldn't move like this, not step out of hiding like they were doing. Maia, in the act of picking a flower, froze and looked up, and Liriel instinctively moved to shield her.

Before they left, Keirine had made sure to equip all of them with disease immunity charms, and in addition, she'd come up with a means of speaking the local language, whatever it was. Spirits could read thoughts and speak any tongue they wanted, and so her bright idea had been to have them all possessed with weak spirits, not strong enough to take them over but enough to make them fluent. And so the adults had reluctantly agreed. Maia he'd decided against. If kids learnt languages quickly, she'd be fine without.

Liriel could therefore speak the language, but no amount of translation spells could make her anything other than Alinorian nobility who didn't take well to being challenged.

“Have a care, human,” Liriel snapped, casting mage armour and bringing fire to her hands. “We're doing no wrong. There's no need to-”

Swords were being drawn, bows raised, and the leader actually laughed.

“Apostates!” he shouted. “Templars, get them!”

Maia shrieked, and ran off to take cover, clearly remembering the instructions she'd had firmly instilled as to what to do if a fight broke out, and Madanach cast his mage armour and drew his axe, ready to fight, and he was pleased to see Eola doing likewise. Liriel meanwhile had raised a ward, and a fireball loomed large in these Templar knights' futures.

Until one of the Templars raised a hand and Liriel's magic blinked out. No fire in her hands. The ward gone, her mage armour gone, and Madanach realised his own was gone too, as was Eola's, his older daughter staring at her hands and wondering just what had happened. All of their magic was gone – it wasn't even as if their magicka had been drained, their magic was just not there. And Liriel, defenceless without it, cried out as a Templar raised her sword to strike.

A golden arrow took the knight right in the visor slit, and then Borkul powered through, berserker rage fuelling the charge, and that was what saved Liriel. The elf promptly fled to take cover, only narrowly avoiding arrows, and Madanach couldn't fault her for that. She was no warrior, not really, and deprived of her magic, she was near-helpless. But Madanach, now, Madanach had been a Forsworn warrior for years and he wasn't abandoning his people. Raising his axe, he sprang into action and was pleased to see one Templar fall before him… but there were a lot of them, and they were well-trained and heavily armoured, and one was taking aim.

Madanach moved just in time to take an arrow in the arm rather than the chest, but the next hit his shoulder and sent him reeling. He lifted his axe but he had a feeling the next would have him, and this wasn't fair, it really wasn't, he'd only just got better, he had a wife to find, a daughter to protect, oh gods, Maia was watching, she was only five, she didn't deserve to see her father die, and nor did Eola, currently trying to block a sword with just a mace and no real training in how to fight without the magic she'd always had.

“FUS RO DAH!”

The Thu'um echoed through the valley, not the full-throated roar of a grown Nord warrior, but powerful enough to send the knights reeling (and Borkul too, caught in the way but he'd changed his stance on hearing the first word and dropped and rolled rather than went flying).

Madanach shook himself down, looking first for one daughter then the other, and Eola was busy smashing her downed assailant's brains out with her mace, shouting at them for Namira to claim them – an odd war cry but as good as any, he supposed. Meanwhile Maia was peeking out from behind a rock, shaking all over but otherwise unharmed.

Or at least she was until one of the knights got up and ran straight for her, sword raised and his hand making that gesture that had switched off their magic before.

Maia's Thu'um was still recharging, her magic likely wasn't working either and all she had was an admittedly sharp ebony dagger and no training in how to use it at all. She wasn't holding it right, she looked terrified, Madanach had no magic either and he wasn't going to get there in time even as he staggered towards her, screaming her name.

He'd expected to see a sword swing down and break his heart. What he got instead was another warrior in blue and silver leaping from out of nowhere and charging into the knight, bellowing a war cry and making swift work of him. Maia shrieked and ran off to where Liriel was beckoning her over to hide with her, and in an instant, Madanach felt his magic switch back on.

Ripping the arrows out, he cast healing magic to close the wounds and turned on the remainder of the knights getting to their feet and preparing to charge, but before they could do that magic-killing trick again, Cicero had emerged on top of a rocky outcrop which offered a far superior view of the sky, raised No Longer Auriel's Bow and pointed it at the sun, one Sun-Hallowed arrow flying at it.

According to Liriel, the sun was actually millions of miles away, so how the fuck that thing actually worked was anyone's guess. But work it did, and sunbursts fell from the sky and knocked the knights down again, screams of pain echoing around the valley.

Madanach narrowed his eyes, summoned his magicka and, fire springing into his hands, waded in to finish this fight once and for all. No one went for his baby girl with impunity, and no one took the King of the Forsworn's magic away. _No one._

Screaming, fire and stabbing, and soon it was all over. Borkul was cleaning blood and brains off Volendrung, Eola was doing likewise with what looked horribly like the Mace of Molag Bal, Cicero was flitting from prone body to prone body, emptying their pockets and ensuring they were definitely definitely dead, and Maia… fuck, where was Maia??

“Maia??” Madanach shouted, looking frantically around for her. “MAIA???”

“Here, Daddy!” Maia called from where she was standing clutching Frogella and staring up at the warrior who'd intervened and likely saved her life. He'd not gone anywhere, standing awkwardly on the sidelines and regarding Maia, and indeed Liriel, who was holding Maia's shoulder protectively, with some confusion.

“Maia, thank the gods, are you all right?” Madanach gasped, racing to her side and dropping to his knees to hold her. Dear gods, if anything had happened… He should never have brought her, never, what had he been thinking??

Maia was clinging onto him, pouting and sniffling, and the poor thing, she'd just seen a group of people carved to pieces, she must be terrified. She'd seen him unleash the fury of the elements on them, and that couldn't help but affect her, right? Oh gods, what if she was scared of him now??

But she didn't seem that traumatised, and she was snuggling him, which was a good sign she didn't fear him, and when she stared at him and finally spoke, what was bothering her wasn't what he'd expected.

“They took my magic!” Maia cried, sounding offended and outraged and shocked at the mere idea. “Daddy, they're not allowed to do that! They can't take people's magic away!”

“I know, little one,” Madanach said, eyes narrowing as he wondered just who those warriors had been and how they did that… and why they'd declared war as soon as they realised they were mages. “But those ones won't be doing it again. They don't… people who run at innocent little girls waving swords deserve all they get.” 

The image of that knight running at Maia flashed in front of his mind's eye again, and Madanach had a feeling that even if Maia was all right, he wouldn't be, not for a while yet. He held his daughter closer and kissed the top of her head, and felt Maia hug him in turn.

“Don't be sad, Daddy, we won,” Maia whispered. “You showed them! You're the best! And this man saved me!”

Madanach looked up and got his first look at the man who'd just saved his little girl. Blue and silver striped armour, a definite theme of winged lions with eagles' heads on the heraldry, about the same height as Madanach except with a rather more muscular build, and as he took his helmet off, Madanach saw a man in his forties, pale skin, dark hair and a full beard. Human too, which was something. Madanach had idly wondered if there'd be humans here or if it'd be all mer or even beastkin of a kind they'd not discovered yet. But no, there were humans here. That was something, although what manner of human they were remained to be seen. He could, however, be charitable to a man who'd saved his daughter. Even if he and Liriel were eyeing each other up suspiciously.

“Thank you, human – I mean, sirrah,” Liriel said, inclining her head. “We were starting to wonder if everyone here was some barbarian – tell me, what's an apostate?”

“You don't know??” the man said, incredulous. “Miss, where exactly are you from that doesn't know about the mage-Templar war? Are you… some sort of elf?”

Liriel's eyebrows shot up, nostrils flaring, but she got her emotions under control swiftly enough.

“Yes. I'm an elf,” Liriel said, frowning. “You do have those here, yes?”

“Ye-es,” the warrior said uneasily. “Only they're usually shorter. And they're not usually yellow.”

Madanach tried not to laugh at the shock on Liriel's face as she realised that while there were humans, there were clearly no Altmer anywhere. Because it wasn't funny, it was going to make them stick out like a sore thumb, and oh gods, if Liriel stood out, what about Borkul?? 

It had literally never occurred to Madanach that there wouldn't be any elves as they knew them here. This was going to be an issue, but this man hadn't tried to kill Liriel on sight so all was not lost.

“Greetings,” Madanach said, getting to his feet and once more forcing the unfamiliar tongue into his brain. “Don't mind Liriel, maybe she's not like the elves you're used to, but she's not a thing of evil. Despite what those Templar people thought. She's a mage and a scholar, but not inherently dangerous… but if any of us having that power bothers you, walk away now.”

The warrior inclined his head in response, seeming willing to hear them out at least.

“I can't say it doesn't concern me a little, but you had cause to use it,” he said, guarded but not unfriendly in his tone and posture. “Not many parents can witness their child being attacked and not react. The little one is your blood child, isn't she? Not a war orphan you adopted, or an apprentice mage in your care.”

“Yes,” Madanach said, protective arm around Maia, who was beaming trustingly up at the stranger as if he was the best thing ever. “This is Maia, my youngest child, although she's my firstborn with my second wife. I have others from a previous marriage, one of whom is over there with her husband, and the warrior just joining us is my bodyguard Borkul.”

“Morning,” Borkul growled, taking up position at Madanach's side. “I need to worry about him, boss?”

“No need for that,” the warrior said stiffly, and if he was surprised at the green skin and tusks, he showed no sign of it. “I'm neutral in the current conflict. I'm a Grey Warden, and we're above politics. You need fear no harm from me. I might have judged you dangerous apostates and just let the Templars do their job if you'd been travelling on your own, but not when there's a little one with you. Maybe she's a mage, but she's also a little girl. Too many forget that. And I've seen enough dead kids in my time.” He shuddered as if at some memory, and then clear eyes looked up and met Madanach's, nodding with respect. “Name's Blackwall. Warden Blackwall. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Warden Blackwall,” Madanach repeated, not sure what a Grey Warden was, but apparently not something to worry about. “Hello there. I'm Madanach ap Caradach, these two are my Eola and her husband Cicero, and you've already met little Maia. Maia, say hello to Warden Blackwall.”

Without realising it, he'd instinctively slipped back into Tamrielic when addressing the small child with no translating spirit in her head, and Maia responded in kind.

“Hello Warden Blackwall!” she chirped, dropping a curtsey. “Thank you for saving me!”

Blackwall smiled faintly at words he didn't understand but grasped the intent behind before turning back to Madanach, smile fading.

“You're not from round here, are you,” Blackwall said quietly. “Do I want to know how you got fluent in the common tongue, but didn't use the same trick on your little one.”

Really and honestly, no, but fortunately Eola stepped forward, mask of Morokei off and all smiles.

“You truly don't, it involves lots of diagrams. And maths,” she purred. “All you need to know is that we're just passing through, trying to find Maia's mother. Have you seen her? Tall red-haired warrior woman, really pretty, helmet with dragon's teeth, fiery sword, called Elisif, absolutely adorable but don't challenge her to a fight. She can kill dragons.”

Maia didn't understand what Eola was saying but caught her mother's name and promptly turned on her most hopeful smile, beaming up at her saviour, and the combination of Eola's grin and Maia's hopeful little face allayed Blackwall's suspicions a little.

“No, can't say I have,” Blackwall admitted. “But if I run into anyone matching that description, I'll be sure to tell her you're here.” He looked as if he was thinking hard, before coming to a decision.

“Look, you all look shattered, and I don't think you really know where you're going or how to even start looking for this Elisif woman,” Blackwall said thoughtfully. “Tell you what, come back with me. It's not a very big house, but I see what looks like camping gear on those packs, you're welcome to pitch up outside and rest for a bit. Then perhaps I'll share some local news, help you figure out where to go next, yeah?”

It was likely the best offer they were going to get, and Madanach seized on it. Likely he needed all the information he could find.

“We'd be glad to,” Madanach said, motioning for Cicero and Borkul to retrieve the gear. “We've been up for hours and it is way past Maia's bedtime.”

“Well then, we'd better find her one,” Blackwall laughed. “Come on, come with me. It isn't far.”

Gear rounded up, and the little party followed Warden Blackwall back to his house. This was a strange new world indeed… but it seemed it was not without friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Hours later, and if Blackwall had had any doubts if he was doing the right thing, they'd been allayed. Maia had been dead on her feet by the time they'd reached his cabin, and he'd told her father to borrow his bed for a few hours. Madanach had looked grateful, tucked his child up in bed and then crawled in alongside her, asleep in minutes himself. Meanwhile, Eola had smiled gently at her sleeping father, stroked her little sister's hair before chivvying her husband (definitely a bit touched in the head, that one) outside to help erect the tents.

Blackwall had then watched in amazement as under her direction, three tents materialised out of bent branches and leather, bedrolls being unrolled and then another bag opened and several vicious-looking wooden stakes were hammered into a rough perimeter fence, and a wind-breaker went up too, shielding the tents from the cliff-edge.

“You've done this before,” he said, nodding at Eola's work.

“Time-honoured techniques,” Eola said, satisfied as she surveyed the camp. “Once learnt, never forgotten. Didn't even live in a walled room until I was seventeen.”

Blackwall rubbed his eyes, having to wonder just where exactly they were all from, especially the green-skinned warrior with the tusks and the golden-skinned elf. Borkul could pass for a Tal-Vashoth mercenary… if you weren't terribly familiar with the Tal-Vashoth, of course. Fortunately, few round here were.

Liriel was a different matter – no elf anywhere was taller than humans, and she didn't seem muscled enough to be a Tal-Vashoth… but it was probably her best option. They had pointy ears as well, and most people would never have seen a female one. It'd do as a cover story.

Then there was Cicero, and if Eola seemed like a barbarian tribeswoman fresh off the mountains (and she definitely knew her mountain wildernesses, that was obvious), Cicero seemed like a demented cross between foppish Orlesian noble and hyperactive child, with a strong dash of Les Harlequins mixed in. He'd just returned with dinner, dragging in a dead ram by the horns, along with some local plants which he'd then presented to Blackwall, politely inquiring which were edible, which not and which went with the ram. Not many, and Blackwall had to break it to Cicero that the pretty pink flowers he'd painstakingly gathered were in fact Blood Lotus and poisonous. Cicero had looked a bit crestfallen, but on hearing the pointy ones were Elfroot and fine to eat, he'd brightened up, helped Borkul set the fire, then produced an array of cooking gear, including something called olive oil and a whole rack of herbs and spices, and before long there was a roast mutton and elfroot meal in progress. Apart from the bit that Cicero vaguely waved near the fire for a few seconds before plating up for Eola, not a green thing in sight.

Blackwall really couldn't watch Eola tear into raw meat with her teeth, and Borkul's growling for Cicero to stop fannying about with bay leaves and just feed him already was also a bit concerning. But the final product smelt divine, and Blackwall gave in and had some.

It turned out the little maniac could cook, and Blackwall forgave him everything. And so they'd talked and exchanged news, and it turned out Skyrim was a lot like Ferelden in a lot of ways, and it turned out Elisif was some sort of hero back there, avenging the High King's murder, fighting dragons, saving the world from a dragon-god… It all sounded a bit unlikely, but what didn't sound unlikely was Cicero excitedly squealing that she'd saved him from a savage werewolf and comforted him after the loss of his mother, and that she'd been responsible for him meeting his wife, and if Blackwall had doubted their story, the soppy looks Cicero gave Eola confirmed that their marriage was real at least.

In return, he'd told them a little of the place they'd ended up in, a harder task than he'd thought what with all the questions and Cicero frowning and wanting to know what a darkspawn was exactly.

“You'll know one when you see it,” Blackwall warned him. “They're tainted, evil things, destroying everything they touch. World's better off without them. We Wardens, we're the thin blue line between them and the rest of the world.”

“So why aren't you out on the frontlines fighting them then,” Eola said, a little scepticism in her voice and Blackwall made a mental note to keep an eye on her. She was clearly the bright one.

“I'm a recruiter,” Blackwall growled, keeping to his cover story and just thanking Andraste they had their own mission and wouldn't ask to join. “I travel alone, finding recruits. Right now I'm settled here because of reports of activity in the old Deep Roads entrance behind the waterfall. Of course it turned out to be a gang of Carta smugglers, but I'm keeping an eye on things. Just in case they dig up something they shouldn't.”

“You ain't taking the smugglers out?” Borkul observed, sounding a little surprised Blackwall hadn't dealt with the problem. As if one warrior was expected to take out a Carta clan on his own.

“I'm willing to give my life in a fight but not in vain,” Blackwall said firmly. “And I deal with darkspawn, not common criminals. You want to take them out though, I've got no objections. Might even join you.”

Cicero looked very excited at the prospect, and Blackwall had a feeling these particular Carta might not be a problem for much longer. Something he could definitely live with.

And so his visitors turned in, and Blackwall retreated inside to rest and think. Doubtless the existence of a mysterious land no one had ever heard of should worry him, and it did a bit. They'd never heard of the Maker, or Andraste, their land had lots of gods and their particular ones seemed to be Hircine the god of hunting, Mara, a goddess of love and family, some sort of ancestor god of Liriel's called Auriel, Namira who was some sort of goddess of claiming the dead, and Malacath, god of the underdog, although it turned out Borkul was a bit of an apostate in his worship of said god.

“Backing the winning side's better,” was all he'd say on that.

All in all, Blackwall had to wonder if the existence of this land boded well or ill, especially seeing as they now knew how to get to Ferelden. This wasn't an army, far from it, just a little scouting party. But it could spell trouble for all Thedas.

However, it wasn't Blackwall's problem. These were just people, just a little family trying to find their missing mother. He wasn't one to turn them away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall may regret accompanying this lot, but he's a good man, always willing to help a struggling refugee family, and he's in the Hinterlands, so in he comes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero's worried about his kids and the only thing that can distract him is a good stabbing. Alas, unfamiliarity with the local criminals means he's soon bitten off more than he can chew, and it's up to Warden Blackwall to save him. That little crisis is as nothing however compared to Madanach's reaction when he discovers the true nature of the conflict gripping Thedas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second half of Madanach's arrival in Tamriel, and we've got Cicero being Cicero, Blackwall already regretting inviting this lot back to his and Madanach discovering what he's just walked into. Enjoy!

Blackwall was starting to regret the hospitality, just slightly. He hadn't realised Cicero slept that restlessly. He hadn't realised the little fool could move that quietly and slip off without a sound, and he definitely didn't think the little idiot would take it into his head to sneak off to that old dwarven ruin to, as Cicero later put it, carry out some vitally necessary stabbing.

“Only poor Cicero was lonely!” Cicero protested as they debriefed him. “Poor Cicero missed his children and could not sleep! So – so seeing as Blackwall had said there were some nasty Carta smugglers hiding away behind the waterfall, Cicero went to deal with them. As a way to distract himself from worrying about his pretty little fairy princesses!”

He'd used the cover of late afternoon shadows to sneak up to the falls, shot one sentry, pounced on the other before she'd even seen where he was, then crept inside. The sentries on the bridge to the main fort hadn't stood a chance, being stabbed from out of nowhere and kicked off the bridge, and then apparently the little fiend had got to the other side and been set on by short, angry dwarves with sharp and pointy weapons.

Cicero at this point had apparently been forced to take 'drastic action' and he didn't specify what that action had been but it had apparently led to him tearing through the base, slaughtering every dwarf in his path… until he'd got to the lower levels, and then Cicero had come into contact with his first darkspawn.

“So now Cicero knows what a darkspawn is, and now Cicero wishes he didn't,” Cicero finished nervously. “Blackwall, it was horrible! Vile! Disgusting, and the smell offended poor Cicero's delicate nose! And – and Cicero remembered you had said its blood could infect with Blight sickness and did not think tearing into it with – um, getting up close, would be a good idea. So Cicero went to get help. Blackwall knows about darkspawn, Blackwall could help!”

Cicero looked up hopefully, wrapped in a fur blanket as his clothes and gear had been somehow left behind in the abandoned thaig. Blackwall could kick himself at this. Cicero had taken out the smugglers _all by himself_ (Maker's balls, _how??_ ) which meant there were darkspawn now with free rein of the place. And nightfall was not far off, which meant darkspawn could be wandering around topside within hours. With them the first in line and their fortifications not up to a full-on darkspawn attack, and an innocent little girl tucked up in bed not far away.

_Come on, Blackwall. You're the thin blue line between innocent people and disaster, aren't you? Fucking act like it._

All of which meant ranged attacks, which meant mages, and having seen the ones they had with them in action, Blackwall had no doubt they could do this if they struck now. Which meant waking up Madanach.

“Come on,” he said, motioning to Eola. “Let's go get your dad out of bed. We'll need him.”

Blackwall let Eola deal with actually nudging him awake, watching as she leaned over him and whispered “Daddy?” in his ear. Not what she normally referred to him as, but apparently waking him up meant adopting childlike mannerisms so as to stave off early morning grumpiness. It worked. 

“Maia, wha- oh. Eola?” Madanach was rubbing his eyes, confused and blinking and instinctively looking around to check Maia was all right. She was fine, snuggled under the blankets and oblivious to the impending crisis.

“Da, we've got a problem,” Eola was saying. “Only Cicero was exploring and...”

Madanach's expression changed from concerned to furious in one second, and even Blackwall could sense a brief burst of magic rising in the room until Madanach swiftly repressed it again, mainly because Maia had stirred in her sleep, whimpering a bit and Madanach was apparently well practised in making sure children at least did not wake up unnecessarily.

“What did he do,” Madanach growled. “How much trouble are we in exactly?”

“Don't be too hard on him,” Blackwall said, detaching himself from the doorpost and stepping into the room. “He wasn't doing anything so very wrong. Apparently he couldn't sleep and decided a good cure for insomnia was creeping off to the nearby dwarven ruin to take out some smugglers. Which he did. But he wasn't up for taking on darkspawn on his own, which means we've now got a ruin with darkspawn wandering around and nothing between them and us. They don't like the sun but as soon as it goes down, they might decide to do some exploring of their own. And we're right in the way.”

Madanach had gone very still and very quiet before his eyes slipped to Maia, and Blackwall just knew he was contemplating taking Maia and running. Blackwall couldn't entirely fault him for this, plenty of parents had done the same in the face of darkspawn, but most of those had been helpless farmers and traders, not highly trained battlemages.

“Hey. Less of that,” Blackwall warned. “There's only a few of them, so Cicero tells me, and it's an outpost, not the true Deep Roads. We get in there and deal with them, we block the entrance they're using, we make the place safe for everyone else. We leave it, who knows what could happen.”

Madanach closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, and had Blackwall known it, he'd managed to tap into Madanach's sense of civic responsibility. A man who'd been king of a city built on a dwarven ruin with the ever-present risk of Falmer bursting up from below wouldn't take darkspawn lightly.

“Cicero is coming with us,” Madanach growled. “He screwed this up and left a job unfinished, he helps sort it.”

Which would be a problem considering Cicero's gear had all been left behind in his haste to get out, and when Eola told her father this, Madanach's eyes widened before he sighed wearily.

“Has he got any gear whatsoever left?” Madanach sighed.

“He's got his motley and ebony dagger,” Eola told him and Madanach nodded, getting out of bed.

“Get him kitted out in that then,” Madanach said, reaching for his own gear. “The three of us plus Liriel will provide a distraction – Blackwall, you willing to fight some darkspawn?”

“Always,” Blackwall said, hoping his nerves weren't showing… but this was a fight he couldn't walk away from. Madanach did smile at that and nodded.

“Right then. You take point, Liriel, Eola and I will provide magical support, Cicero comes as a guide and stays out of sight until he relocates his things, at which point he can start providing archery cover. Borkul stays here, last line of defence. If darkspawn get past us, he's to take Maia and run.”

“He's not gonna like that,” Eola commented. “You know he'd rather be in the thick of things.”

“Yeah, yeah, but someone's got to keep an eye on Maia,” Madanach sighed. “Better him than Cicero, and didn't you say darkspawn blood was poison?”

Yes, which was the whole reason the normally fearless Cicero had turned and fled, a fact which had apparently unnerved Eola and Borkul both when Cicero had admitted he'd turned and run from a consequence-free chance to kill something. 

So the plan came together, and Blackwall led the way into the ruin, two battlemages and one elven scholar-mage at his back and Cicero scampering at his side in that strange red outfit of his, definitely more than a hint of Les Harlequins about him in that get-up. As a rule, harlequin assassins gave Blackwall the creeps and with good reason. But they were still an improvement on darkspawn.

“This way, this way!” Cicero was cooing softly. “It was through here, over this bridge, yes yes, this way!”

“Doesn't this look like Nchuand-Zel?” Liriel whispered to Eola. “Same sort of walkways, similar design – oh, but those stone statues are different! Are those what dwarves actually looked like, you think?”

“Don't know,” Eola said cheerfully. “Got a few dead ones up ahead though. You can have a look later.”

Liriel went a bit pale at the thought of an actual dissection and fell silent, following behind as Blackwall led the way. Sure enough, there were definite signs Cicero had been here before, namely two pools of blood dripping off the bridge and the distant sight of two dwarf corpses on the rock far below. Not to mention the dwarven bodies on the other side that looked like they'd been ripped to pieces. The floor was coated in blood and there were already flies buzzing.

“Maker's breath, what happened?” Blackwall breathed, eyeing Cicero nervously. Cicero went a bit pink and giggled something about having got a bit carried away. Eola patted him on the back proudly and Madanach just shrugged.

“He's got a skill, knows how to use it,” Madanach shrugged. “Makes him just about worth putting up with.”

Skill was one way of putting it. Cicero just beamed at Madanach, before spying his bow glimmering in the shadows and various bits of his black and red gear scattered around too. No sign of darkspawn and so Cicero gathered his things and got dressed while Blackwall motioned for them to follow him. Darkspawn had to be lurking somewhere round here.

Eola was stepping over corpses and treading through blood without a care in the world, apparently well used to the aftermath of Cicero's little adventures by this point, and Madanach didn't seem that bothered either, in fact it was just Liriel carefully picking her way through all the blood, grimacing as she did so. Then Eola's nose wrinkled in distaste, just as the darkspawn scream echoed over the cavern.

“What _is_ that thing?” Eola gasped, casting her mage armour and preparing to cast.

“A darkspawn, I take it,” Madanach said grimly, looking no less revolted, more so if anything, but his magic was the first to land a blow on the darkspawn archer lurking on the stone walkway below. Right then. The fight was on. Time for Blackwall to show them his worth.

It wasn't the first time he'd fought darkspawn, but they never failed to inspire revulsion. Evil incarnate, corrupting everything they touched, blotchy black and white skin and faces that only vaguely reflected human faces, the smell, the slime… Blackwall steeled himself, shield at the ready, as the darkspawn came for him. 

Magic rained down around him, fire scything into the darkspawn, and Blackwall flung himself into the rhythm of combat, and killing a darkspawn wasn't much different from killing a human, and things were simplified immensely when he had three mages at his back sending fire and ice into his foes, doing half the job for him. Much easier to kill a darkspawn when it was frozen solid or had been sent flying back by a fireball.

So Blackwall charged on, following them back to where they'd come from, Madanach following behind with Eola and Liriel, magic flying ahead to clear the way for him… up until he arrived at another set of stairs leading down to the cave where the darkspawn seemed to be coming up from. 

Guarding the way was the biggest darkspawn he'd ever seen, wielding a massive two-handed axe that could crush a man's skull.

Right then. But if Blackwall was going out, he wasn't going out without a fight. Roaring a battle-cry, he charged in, sword ready to fight, magic raining down around him, but Blackwall had a feeling it wouldn't be enough.

Until a black shadow fell over them from above, and the darkspawn alpha staggered as black and red crashed into it, one arm around its shoulders and another wielding a shiny dagger that sliced neatly across its throat.

The cowled, masked figure responsible had clearly done this sort of thing before, because as the hurlock fell to the ground, the masked figure was carving into the thing's arms as well, neatly severing nerves critical to the wielding of a two-handed weapon, all the while dodging any blood spray. 

The final blow involved a knife driven between the darkspawn's ribs, with a practised efficiency that spoke of years of precision stabbing, and Blackwall knew then without a shadow of a doubt that wherever this lot came from, they had their own version of Les Harlequins, and Cicero was clearly one of their veterans.

“ _Killed it!_ ” Cicero giggled, voice low and husky as he stepped back and cleaned his blades up before bowing to Blackwall.

“Thank you, Warden Blackwall!” Cicero cooed, face thankfully hidden behind that masked cowl so Blackwall didn't have to see the demented smile. “Cicero could not have done that without you drawing its attention elsewhere.”

“Glad to be of service,” Blackwall said dryly. “Shall we go find your lady wife?”

There'd been a distinct lack of fireballs in the last five minutes, which Blackwall hoped didn't mean someone would be mourning their kin tonight. Thankfully none of the mages looked harmed – in fact they were all staring at a gem that Eola was holding.

“I'm telling you it's empty!” Eola was saying, holding the thing up. “Grand soul gem, and it's not captured a thing.”

“Well, maybe they've got black souls,” Madanach was saying, but Eola shook her head and produced a dark purply-black gemstone. 

“This one's empty too, and I definitely cast the trap properly. Soul trapping doesn't work on these things, Da!”

“Soul trapping works on everything with a soul, even undead can be trapped – wait, you don't mean...”

“They don't have souls, Da!” Eola was saying, and while this did not surprise Blackwall, no one should look quite so excited over darkspawn. “Do you realise what this means??”

“No,” Madanach sighed wearily, and Blackwall felt his respect for the man go up a bit. Madanach was clearly the practical sort rather than the type to obsess over darkspawn. He'd likely make an excellent warden… but with a five year old to raise, Blackwall knew he was better off left to make a difference in his own way.

“It means so-called living things don't need a soul to survive!” Eola was saying. “I mean, they probably won't have much in the way of consciousness or personality, but from what Blackwall was saying, darkspawn don't really do a lot other than kill things.”

“But that goes against everything we know about life forms and how they develop,” Liriel insisted. “Everything has a soul, everything! Even fish have them! So how have we got complex life-forms that don't?”

“And they make weapons and armour which look more sophisticated than you'd expect,” Madanach pointed out. “Eola, I think one of them had a crossbow. They have something in there, I don't think they're entirely mindless.”

“Well, no soul,” Eola said, pocketing the gem. “So they either don't have them, or maybe they don't have individual souls.”

“A group soul of some sort, you think?” Madanach said, and now he looked interested, and Blackwall felt that didn't bode well for anyone.

“Maybe,” Eola was saying thoughtfully. “I really need to examine the corpses in more detail...”

“Or maybe we could spend less time theorising about how evil came to be and just be glad it's dead,” Blackwall said firmly. “Chances are you won't learn anything and just infect yourself or someone else with the Blight instead. Now, the entrance to their nest is still open, could one of you seal it?”

Liriel sighed and went to deal with it, magic drawing nearby rocks and wood into a serviceable barricade, and then it was time to head back. Darkspawn dead, job done, smugglers taken out as well, world safe for humanity again. All in a day's work. The Wardens would be proud.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Maia had been up when they got back, having woken up worried to find her father not there, but apparently she'd been fine with Borkul being there, and had been playing in the shallows of Lake Luthias for a bit – until the bear had turned up anyway. But with an Orc berserker there to watch her back, Maia had been just fine and the bear was lying a few feet away, its skull very thoroughly bashed in and its fur smouldering like a dragon had been at it, and Borkul was busy cleaning his warhammer off in the waterfall while Maia was bouncing about claiming she'd killed a bear.

“Yeah, you did, well done,” Borkul was saying, nodding in approval. “Need more fire-breathing five year olds in the world.”

“Fire breathing five year old??” Blackwall asked, turning to Madanach as he realised what he thought he'd heard when he first encountered them was true – he'd heard a little girl shout and send several Templars flying. He'd thought it was some sort of force magic got out of hand due to the little thing being frightened, but she could breathe fire as well?? And her family didn't seem bothered at all? In particular the non-mage bodyguard seemed proud rather than about to hand in his notice.

“Maia's magic takes some… unconventional forms,” Madanach admitted. “But she's mostly in control of its usage. She had an excellent tutor back home.”

Blackwall had the feeling Madanach was not telling him everything, but he decided not to press matters and left them all to it while Maia hugged her father and told him off for leaving her – not because she'd been scared, but because what if something had happened to him??

Madanach had cuddled her and been very apologetic, telling her he was very sorry but he'd had to go and deal with some nasty monsters called darkspawn, and little girls didn't belong anywhere near darkspawn.

Maia had looked unconvinced, frowning at him, and her next question had been unexpected.

“Do darkspawn take away magic too?”

Madanach raised an eyebrow before shaking his head.

“These didn't. I don't know if any others do, Blackwall?”

Blackwall was reasonably confident on that one at least.

“I never heard of darkspawn being able to turn off magic,” Blackwall told him. “That ability's unique to Templars.”

Maia cheered up a bit at that and cuddled her father, forgiving him for doing dangerous things without her and before long, she was playing in the water again while Cicero supervised (if by supervise you meant bounce along after her until things devolved into a full-blown water fight). Dark by this point, nearly ten o'clock by now surely, and Blackwall was ready to turn in. With his guests occupied and clearly fine with sitting up for a few more hours, Blackwall was inclined to leave them to it.

So he went inside, pulled his cuirass off, shed his outer armour and settled down with a beer in hand to rest. 

At least until the door opened behind him and Madanach stepped in, some enchantment or other on his boots having hidden his footsteps completely.

Something in his manner made Blackwall nervous, but Madanach didn't seem hostile. Just worried.

“Can I help?” Blackwall asked, wondering what he wanted. “No trouble, I hope?”

“No,” Madanach said quietly. “But I had questions. Can I join you?”

Ah. Questions. Blackwall wasn't fond of those. He really didn't like being obliged to lie. But Madanach was an outsider, a foreigner. He wouldn't know about the Wardens, not enough to contradict him, and by the time Madanach ever learned any different, he'd likely have moved on. So Blackwall motioned for Madanach to take the other chair and offered him a drink. Madanach took it, shrugged and sipped it. Possibly Fereldan ale wasn't entirely to his taste.

“So, what did you want to know,” Blackwall asked, steeling himself. “Was it about darkspawn? Blights? Wardens? I'd consider recruiting you, but you've got a kid to mind.”

Madanach laughed, settling back into his chair with the tankard resting on his lap, all the gold fittings gleaming in the firelight. Blackwall didn't know who'd designed the black leather and gold-plated bone ensemble, or why the gold leaf feathers, but the entire ensemble seemed designed to scream barbarian with money. Madanach would likely be a conspicuous target for criminals while wearing it… or worse. Blackwall had a feeling he wasn't used to travelling without an entourage of soldiers. Wherever he'd come from, he was some sort of noble, clearly, and not some powdered Orlesian fop either. This man was a skilled warrior-mage.

“I don't think the Wardens are really ready for me,” Madanach said, grinning. “But that wasn't what I wanted to know. You mentioned the ability to suppress magic being unique to Templars. Which was what those warriors with the fiery sword on their gear called themselves. And they turned on us as soon as they knew we were mages.” His smile faded as he leaned forward. “Who the hell were they, and should I be worried? Am I risking slaughter or arrest as soon as I use any magic? What about Maia? We don't get many magical accidents but it's always a risk. One of those Templars tried to kill her, Blackwall!”

Madanach looked the very picture of a worried father, and honestly he was right to be. Two, three years ago, Blackwall wouldn't have known what to tell him, other than the bad news that yes, they'd be at risk of being hunted if they so much as lit a candle. They still were, of course. But the good news he could share was that at least they had a fighting chance.

“This is going to be a long story,” Blackwall sighed. “And I don't have all the details, because I don't know all the details, only what people say. And you must know how reliable tavern gossip is.”

Madanach smiled a little at that and nodded for him to go on.

“Tell me what everyone is saying then,” Madanach said calmly. “I can do with knowing how magic's perceived at any rate.”

So Blackwall took a deep breath and told him of the Chantry, for so long the dominant religious force across all southern Thedas, and how it was based on the teachings and life of Andraste, Bride and Prophet and the leader of the rebellion against the Tevinter Imperium, who'd imposed slavery by means of magic. One of her commandments had been that magic was to serve humankind, not rule over them.

Madanach listened, having gone very quiet and Blackwall could tell he was piecing this together and drawing his own conclusions.

“So, you're telling me the words of a rebel leader who used her fair share of magic herself from the sounds of it, calling on her followers to not subjugate their fellows with it, have been completely taken out of context and used by these Templar knights as an excuse to murder anyone with a shred of magic,” Madanach said quietly, his voice low and dangerous, and Blackwall out of the corner of his eye could see frost forming on the mantel.

“It's more complicated than that,” Blackwall said, glancing about for his weapons. “And I didn't say I supported it – Maker's balls!”

Madanach had tightened his grip on his tankard and the thing had just exploded in shards of ice, magic flaring wildly enough that Eola had cried out outside, Maia had wailed “Daddy?!” and Borkul was even now hammering on the door demanding to know if there was a problem. Maker only knew where Cicero was and knowing what he really was, that wasn't a comfort.

Madanach's magic had shut off as soon as it had flared, and Madanach was staring at the melting ice in shock, before swiftly laughing it off.

“I'm fine!” he called out to Borkul. “Just a little magical malfunction – I'm fine, really!”

Borkul grunted but seemed convinced, because Blackwall heard him telling Eola not to worry, her father was just showing off, nothing to worry about. Blackwall eyed up the somewhat embarrassed mage who was busy levitating the remains of the tankard and contents out of the window, and wasn't anything as sure about that.

“Are you all right,” Blackwall said, wary but also fairly certain the worst was over. For now anyway.

“Yeah, just let me finish,” Madanach said, concentrating as he removed the last chunks of ice. “All right, there we go, sorry about that, that doesn't happen often...”

“But it does happen,” Blackwall said, shifting uneasily. “When you're angry, things freeze. Or catch fire. Or some poor bastard ends up with a lightning bolt in the skull.”

“Not often!” Madanach protested. “Not accidentally anyway! Last time that happened was when some Jarl, who it turned out once tried to grope my Elisif before she got famous, decided he was going to try and court her. Which was years ago.”

At least six years ago then, and Blackwall relaxed a little, seeing a pattern here. Threats to his family seemed to trigger it. Well, what man wouldn't lose his temper if his wife or child was in trouble. It was just the innocent bystanders that were the problem.

“Understandable,” Blackwall said quietly. “But you see why people might be scared. You see why the Chantry did what it did. It was trying to be merciful. Trying to protect innocent people. They didn't kill mages, but they took them away, took them to Circles as soon as their magic manifested. Their families never saw them again. Most just let it happen, acted as if they'd never had a child. You didn't talk about it, no one did. Poor families were often relieved. One less mouth to feed and that child would have a roof over their head, three meals a day, nice clothes and an education. More than some families could ever give their kids.”

Madanach had his head bowed, acknowledging this but clearly devastated at the mere idea. Blackwall wasn't entirely sure he blamed him. This was a man with two mage children, likely others, a mage himself in fact, but Blackwall could tell it wasn't the prospect of his own captivity that bothered him most. It was little Maia being taken away.

“And the Templars enforced all this,” Madanach finally said, sounding grim. Blackwall nodded.

“Yeah. They hunted down mages who'd escaped Circles, kept a look out for young children with magic, took them to Circles and acted as guards for the mages there. That's why they're trained to shut down magic, so they can disarm apostates or stop accidents. I know it doesn't sound fair but it worked for years.”

Madanach did glance up at that, catching the use of the past tense immediately.

“Worked for years,” he repeated. “But not any more? One tried to kill Maia – I can see why Templars might have thought Liriel or Eola a danger, and dangerous rebel is practically my honour-name, but a little girl? Surely they would have just stopped her magic and taken her to one of these Circles.”

“Once, yeah,” Blackwall said, and this time he finally judged it safe to fill another tankard and pass it to Madanach. “But then the mages decided they'd had enough. A few years ago, one blew up the chantry in Kirkwall as some sort of protest. Then the Templars started cracking down on Circle mages, despite the fact the Kirkwall mage had been an apostate. Mages really didn't like that. I don't know what exactly happened, but next thing any of us knew, the mages had got together, voted to dissolve the Circles, all gone on the run, and the Templars lost it completely and broke free of Chantry control themselves. Now, both sides are at war. Which is why a trained warrior thought it somehow acceptable to try and kill a little girl because she had magic and used it to save her dad.”

Madanach was staring at him over the tankard in his hand, barely having touched it, and Blackwall wasn't certain if this was a good thing or not. But nothing had frozen solid or caught fire, so something in all that had caught his attention.

“So there's a rebellion,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “How long has it being going on for exactly?”

“Not long. Couple of years?” Blackwall said, thinking hard over everything he'd heard. “I think it's got to a sort of stalemate – the Templars were expecting the mages to go under and come slinking back, the mages are starting to realise they can't rebel forever. There was supposed to be a Conclave to broker peace, but I don't know what happened. That was a couple of weeks ago, but since then… I don't know, the violence has got worse than ever. The Templars got recalled but there's a few still out here killing anything they think's remotely magical. The leaders of the mage rebellion are holed up in Redcliffe but there's mages out here too, just letting rip now they've finally got a taste of freedom. And then there's those green rifts. With demons! Maker's breath, I have no idea, but I hope the rebel mages haven't done something stupid.”

“Well then, we'd better find out, hadn't we?”

Whatever Blackwall had expected, it hadn't been that. Not the determined expression, and definitely not the smile. Whatever, whoever, Madanach ap Caradach was back home, Blackwall had a feeling this was someone who was used to making things happen.

“What are you saying?” Blackwall said, leaning forward. “You're going to investigate the rebel mages?”

Madanach's grin broadened as he shook his head.

“No. I am going to _join_ the rebel mages, and then I am going to find the irresponsible son of a bitch who managed to break the Veil and then I'm going to make an abject example of him. Or possibly her, but it's usually men who do this stupid shit. And then the mages and I are going to fix the world, and then we're going to see about naming our price, and that price, I assure you, will not involve mages being locked away in Circles _ever_ again. And if I know my wife, and I do, she will not sit idle while the world burns, which means I won't need to look for her. Once it becomes clear the world needs saving, she will find us.”

“Us?” Blackwall couldn't help but say. After all, he'd not signed up for a full on war against evil… or had he? He was supposed to be being a Warden now, after all. He was supposed to be being the thin blue line between civilisation and chaos. The Veil ripping to pieces certainly counted as chaos.

“Well,” Madanach was saying. “You probably have orders from the other Wardens. I mean, you've done enough, right? You let us stay here, saved my daughter, didn't kill Cicero for riling up the darkspawn – you don't have to join the rebel mages with me.”

No, and Blackwall had no intention of joining exactly… but Wardens had mages, right? And if anyone could fix this, the rebel mages could do it – if they'd not caused it, of course. Blackwall had been wondering what to do about the demons – if he could even do anything. Madanach seemed to be offering… something. More than anyone else was, anyway. And honestly, a man who saw a problem and decided he was going to fix it, come what may, was someone to be admired.

“I'm not joining the rebel mages,” Blackwall said firmly. “The mage-Templar war isn't my problem. I'm a Warden, not a Chantry brother. But...” Blackwall couldn't help but remember Maia's terrified face as the Templar blade had swung down at her and the grateful smile she'd given him afterwards despite not knowing the first thing about him, and he realised he couldn't just abandon her.

“Look,” Blackwall sighed. “This isn't a Blight, but it's bloody well a disaster. I don't think anyone's doing anything about it at the moment, in fact you're the first person to promise to sort it out and you're not even from here. So I suppose this means I'm coming with you. As long as you keep acting honourably and doing your best to sort this whole mess out, I can help with that at least. Also, if you run into any more Templars on your way to Redcliffe, you'll need another sword arm, I think.”

Madanach ruefully agreed that was indeed the case, but he was definitely smiling.

“You mean it?” he said, sounding delighted. “You'll help?”

“Aye, I'll help,” Blackwall agreed, shaking hands with an ecstatic Madanach who was thanking him profusely and swearing he'd sort the rifts out if it killed him. Blackwall hoped it didn't come to that. This little family was already starting to grow on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is back to Haven as Elisif settles in and gets to know her surroundings, with mixed results.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one really knows what a Herald's supposed to do, including the Herald herself, and Elisif's left homesick, lonely and rootless. Her advisors are doing their best, but the intervention that helps the most is from a certain dwarf who can't leave well enough alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter! Here is a little pressie for you - the next chapter. This is mostly a light-hearted filler one in which Elisif settles in at Haven, and the Inquisition finally give her something to do.

They'd given her use of the cabin she'd woken up in earlier. Sole use in fact, which Elisif could tell was a rarity in this small village already supporting several times its usual population – and more came each day. The Inquisition was growing, and they all seemed drawn by one thing. The Herald of Andraste, the Maker's emissary and chosen one. Her.

Elisif really should disillusion them, but every time they bowed and called her 'Your Worship' or breathlessly wanted to know what Andraste had said to her in the Fade, or simply thank her for helping, Elisif couldn't do it. They needed a hero. They needed hope. Elisif couldn't take that away. So she smiled and promised she'd do all she could to help, and enjoyed the attention.

All the same, every time they saw the Herald, they didn't see Elisif, and honestly even going into the tavern was a bit fraught, what with everyone standing to attention and saluting and all the _whispering!_ She had a lot of admirers. But not really anyone to talk to. Even her elven servant girl, Roslinna, was too busy being worshipful to manage a conversation.

Elisif had never missed her husband more.

 _Did the witch keep her word? Or is she waiting for me to do… whatever it is I'm supposed to do?_ She didn't know, but she hoped Madanach was all right. That he wasn't upset or afraid or lonely and confused, believing he was still married to Mireen and terrified she was planning to hurt him again.

That prospect worried her more than any other. The Breach was still pouring magic into the world, which was stopping her sensing him as well as she normally would, and what she was picking up was… very odd. He felt nearer, although that made no sense at all. Nearer and more focused although nevertheless worried. It was strange. He felt almost like… like he had done before his mind broke. 

She couldn't stop picturing him now, healed and healthy and looking like he had done on their wedding day, hands on her shoulders and leaning in to kiss her, stripping furs from her as he guided her to their bed…

The knocking on the door jerked her out of her reverie, and Elisif could have wept. What in Mara's name did they possibly want? Scowling and muttering several uncharitable epithets under her breath, Elisif got up and went to answer the door.

“Yes?” Elisif snapped, before it belatedly occurred to her she should be a bit more gracious in public, seeing as she was a divine emissary or something. “Er… I mean, hello?”

Josephine Montilyet was standing outside, in barely above freezing temperatures and her standard gold shirt and waistcoat, and the poor thing looked frozen.

“Herald,” Josephine gasped, shivering all over and trying to smile despite clearly being about to collapse from cold. “I came to see if everything was to your liki-”

Elisif, despite being raised in High Rock, had spent enough time travelling Skyrim with people who'd lived there for years to know how to treat hypothermia and promptly dragged Josephine inside. She'd probably not been outside long enough to get truly cold, which was something, but honestly, not even a coat?? What was she thinking??

“Inside and sit down, right now,” Elisif ordered her, ushering Josephine inside despite the Ambassador's protestations. “No, don't argue, you will freeze, honestly Josephine, what were you thinking? Coming out without a coat in this??”

“I do not have one that goes with this shirt – pray, do not fuss, Herald, I am quite-”

“Going to drop dead from exposure?” Elisif sighed, sitting Josephine down by the fireplace before putting some more logs on the fire. “You really aren't from the mountains, are you?”

“I'm from Antiva,” Josephine admitted, unable to resist a little moan of satisfaction as she sat back in the warmth of the fire, accepting a mug of soup from Elisif. She wasn't the best cook in the world, in fact Elisif had barely ever had to prepare her own food in her life. But even she could manage to tend to the prepared-by-someone-else soup that was simmering over the fire.

“Please, I beg you, you don't need to do this,” Josephine was saying, looking guilty over the entire prospect of being waited on by Elisif. “I am quite capable!”

“You would last about five minutes in Skyrim,” Elisif scolded, retrieving the fur bearskin bed cover they'd brought her – fine Avvar produce apparently albeit not meant for wearing. But it was warm and would do to prevent Antivan diplomats with no common sense from expiring of the cold. Today at least, anyway. “There, is that better?”

“It… it is, yes,” Josephine said, huddling up and edging nearer the fire, colour returning to her cheeks. “I – I thank you, Lady Elisif. I am in your debt.”

“Oh hush, no more talk of debts,” Elisif said, bringing another chair over and sitting across from her, wondering just where on Nirn Josephine came from that some sort of arcane political concern trumped ensuring a fellow human being was not killed by the elements. Somewhere warm, Elisif guessed. “I don't need someone dropping dead from the cold on my front doorstep. Back home, rules of hospitality dictate you help travellers. Or indeed neighbours foolish enough to go walking outside without a coat in the middle of winter. Not that anyone in Skyrim is likely to do that, not twice anyway.”

A flicker of interest there, and Josephine glanced up, clearly curious.

“Skyrim, that's the part of Tamriel you come from, isn't it?” Josephine said, intrigued. “Are the winters harsh there?”

“Very, in fact in the far north, it's winter all the time,” Elisif said, reminiscing over the few times she'd been to Winterhold. “Snow everywhere and vast ice fields, all year round. You'd never dress like that outside!”

Josephine did have to laugh ruefully at that, and then she got that look in her eyes again, that look Elisif was coming to realise meant she was thinking something over and probably working out a great many things from one simple sentence, and while Josephine Montilyet's sense of wilderness survival appeared non-existent, it occurred to Elisif to never, ever, underestimate the woman's intelligence.

“It's cold in the north?” Josephine said, seeming surprised. “That is a surprise. The northern lands of Thedas are warm, and winter is near unheard of. But as you may have worked out, Southern Thedas has many virtues… but warmth is not one of them. They say to the south of Ferelden, even beyond the Korcari Wilds, is a vast plain of ice that never melts. They say it is impassable even by the Chasind natives who live in the wilds, and that nothing can live there.”

“South of here?” Elisif whispered. “So that means I'm further north than home.” The tales of vast plains of ice did sound like Atmora… so maybe Thedas was the other side of Atmora? Was it even part of Atmora? And yet Elisif didn't think so. Hadn't the Nords come from Atmora? Wouldn't they have had some sort of story about Thedas and its people? And yet everything they knew about Atmora said it had been uninhabited when the first Nords had arrived. Maybe the ice made it impassable… but Elisif had a feeling some Nords would have gone exploring anyway.

“Indeed,” Josephine said, still hunched over her soup and no longer seeming to care about how she looked, as long as she was warm again. “We may be nearer neighbours than you think.”

Silence fell for a few moments, and it occurred to Elisif that Josephine must have come here for a reason. Now her teeth were no longer chattering, Josephine might be able to tell her what it was. 

“So, did you need something?” Elisif asked, wondering if there was a problem. Josephine gasped, faint blush staining her cheeks (good, meant her circulation was fine).

“Oh! I mean, yes, your Worship, I...” To Elisif's surprise, Josephine tried to get up, as if she was going to curtsey, but then evidently thought better of it, sitting back down again and trying to look composed.

“I merely wished to inquire if everything was to your liking, Your Worship,” Josephine said, sounding very formal. “I confess we are not fully versed in your customs, but I hope your accommodations have been to your liking. We have not seen very much of you since you woke up, I was concerned we had offended you in some way...”

Elisif could feel herself blushing, but the truth was she'd been rather reclusive since arriving. She'd tried chatting with Leliana, but the spymaster was frequently too busy for idle conversation. She'd tried sparring with the soldiers, but they were all a bit too intimidated to give her the fight she needed. She'd run a couple of errands for the quartermaster, and helped the apothecary out for a bit, even tried her hand at a bit of smithcrafting, but this sort of make-work job couldn't keep her attention for long, not when she wasn't skilled enough to be a proper member of staff, but too high-profile to be treated like a labourer. The tavern was just too intimidating for words. She had the distance from the common folk of a High Queen… but not her hand-picked court. No one knew what a Herald was supposed to do or be, including her. It was very isolating and very lonely and Elisif didn't know what to do with herself. So she… didn't. But how to explain this to Josephine?

“Everything's fine,” Elisif began. “I mean, the food's fine, the house is lovely, everyone's been so welcoming...” If by welcoming you meant apparently too terrified of her to have a proper conversation. She didn't get this back home, not in her own court or Madanach's anyway. Even the palace servants back home would be friendly, and the more senior ones didn't hesitate to treat her like a person as much as a queen. Everyone knew their place, knew the boundaries. Here? No idea. That and she missed her husband and her baby girl, and Argis and Farkas and Lydia and Serana and Odahviing, and the Companions and the Reach Court and all her friends and… Elisif just wanted to go home. 

Josephine could probably tell she was upset, because she looked horribly guilty again, and this was looking more awkward by the second which only made Elisif feel worse… and then came more hammering at the door.

“Hey! Blue-eyes! Open up! We've barely seen you for three days, are you still alive in there?”

Varric! Elisif hadn't seen a lot of the dwarf since her arrival, although she'd certainly said hello and waved every time she'd seen him. Of everyone here, he seemed the most normal – treated her like a person. Elisif could kiss him for it.

“Varric! Door's open, come in!” Elisif called, unaware of just how much her face was lighting up. Josephine however was blushing even more and Varric's eyebrows did go up when she got up to greet him.

“And you're not dead after all!” Varric laughed. “Now if I were stupid enough to bet against you, which I'm not, I'd owe Chuckles ten royals. He's insistent that mark should be stable and therefore not-fatal. Me, I was thinking more along the lines of assassins, but no one's been stupid enough to try that since the Seeker dealt with the last lot.”

“Oh, no, I've been fine,” Elisif lied, hoping her smile was convincing enough. “Everyone's been so...”

“No idea how to react to you because they never had a Herald before, you're alone and far away from everything you ever knew, you miss your family, you've had no one to properly talk to, and you're reacting by hiding, is that a fair summary?” Varric had his arms folded, and considering he was half her height, had a way of staring her down sternly.

“Um,” was all Elisif said, and Josephine gasped. 

“Herald, why did you not say?” Josephine cried. “I would have happily arranged something! We could have some sort of social event to lift your spirits...”

“Ruffles, she needs friends and company, not some diplomatic ball with people she barely knows and has no reason to trust or even like,” Varric sighed, rolling his eyes before turning back to her. “What do you say, Blue-Eyes? A drink in the tavern and I'm buying. Also Chuckles is just dying to ask you all sorts of things.”

“Oh no,” Josephine breathed. “Varric, you cannot – you and Solas cannot just walk up to – to a foreign noblewoman and take her for drinks in a common tavern!”

“I'm fine with taverns,” Elisif began, but Varric was too busy arguing with Josephine to pay attention. 

“I'm not asking a foreign noblewoman, I'm asking my good friend Elisif,” Varric said firmly, holding out his hand to her. “Well, Blue-eyes, fancy a drink?”

Of course she did. Heedless of Josephine's horrified protestations, Elisif took his hand and let herself be pulled to her feet.

“I'd be happy to, just let me find my coat,” Elisif said, reaching for her parka before glancing at Josephine. “Actually, Josephine, why don't you borrow the parka, get yourself back to the Chantry building. I'm sure I'll be fine, it's not that cold out there.”

“No – I mean, thank you, your Worship, that is kind of you,” Josephine said, taking the coat and putting it on. “But I cannot let Varric and Solas, however well intentioned, have unsupervised care of our most honoured guest. I will accompany you.”

Elisif stared at Varric, who was clearly thinking the same thing – the aristocratic Lady Montilyet, drinking in a Fereldan tavern, with an elf and a dwarf and a sort-of-Avvar barbarian warrior-queen who'd been denounced as a heretic? It sounded like the setup for a bad joke.

Which is probably why they both gave in and invited her along. And so Haven was treated to Josephine Montilyet taking a break from her correspondence to deign to visit the tavern, an Avvar parka over her shoulders, while Lady Elisif the Herald followed in a woollen tunic and waistcoat and leather leggings, barely seeming to notice the cold, and Varric Tethras led the way, announcing to the entire tavern that the Herald and Ambassador needed drinks.

Elisif tried to ignore the uncomfortable silence as best she could, but all the same, it was hard to hear a tavern quiet and feel entirely at ease. And then Solas was there, drink already in hand and patting her on the back.

“Elisif! Welcome! I was starting to worry. How is your hand today? No further trouble, I hope?”

“It's fine,” Elisif said, glancing at the mark. Quiet today, as it had been since the Breach stabilised, barely even making its presence felt. “Do I have you to thank for that?”

An odd little expression on Solas's face before he smiled.

“Hardly. The Breach exerts more influence, I think. If that is stable, so will your mark be. Come, join me, I have secured a table. There are advantages to being an apostate elf in an Andrastian holy order's headquarters.”

Meaning everyone avoided him. Elisif felt her heart go out to him. If she was feeling like an outsider, how much more was he? She didn't know where she fit in. He did know, and it wasn't good. She resolved to spend more time with him, if she could. Him and Varric both, who was returning with a tray full of overflowing mead tankards, Josephine following pensively behind.

“We… have to drink all of this?” Josephine asked, eyeing her tankard up with some trepidation. Elisif found herself reminded a little of Cicero, who could face Skyrim's wildlife and people without fear, but was still intimidated by the drinks. She'd long told him he was fine to just sip it a bit and wave his tankard around, and act more intoxicated than he actually was, no one would notice.

“You don't need to drink the whole thing,” Elisif reassured her. “Just sip it a bit. It's not a competition.”

“Although Lady Montilyet participating in a drinking contest would be a sight to see,” Solas said, raising his own drink and sipping it.

“I'll drink to that!” Varric laughed, raising a mug to Solas. “Say, Blue-eyes, you're not batting an eyelid at a tankard of Ferelden's finest ale. Same as the ale you're used to?”

Elisif would love to say she was an experienced connoisseur of ales and meads, but truth be told, she preferred wine and fine brandy. Unpatriotic to avoid mead flagons entirely though, and given her regular social circle consisted of her Nord housecarl, her half-Nord steward, a Nord vampire who alcohol just didn't affect any more, and said steward's ex-Companion Nord husband, who was capable of downing a small child's body-weight in mead in a single night if you let him, Elisif was willing to drink the stuff. But honestly, it all tasted the same to her.

“It's ale flavoured,” Elisif said, shrugging. “It'll do.”

“Would something else be better?” Josephine asked, seizing on the slightest sign of displeasure. “We could have Antivan wine imported, maybe, or Orlesian liqueurs, although the war has made them hard to get. Just say the word, Herald!” 

Elisif could tell from the hints of hope in Josephine's eyes that perhaps Josephine missed the drinks of home too.

“This is fine, Ambassador,” Elisif said, hoping to sound reassuring. “But… you're from Antiva, aren't you? If the Inquisition can afford it, perhaps you could get some samples of the better quality drinks from there. I've never tried any Antivan wine. You must think me so uncivilised!”

“Oh, of course not!” Josephine protested, although there was a certain note in her voice that didn't entirely ring true. “I am sure Skyrim is a centre of civilisation and culture in its own right. We cannot judge these matters when we know nothing about the place… other than that it is very cold in winter. Why, if I were to visit, I would likely be thought terribly foolish for not swathing myself in furs when I left the house!”

“Don't need to go to Skyrim for that, Ruffles,” Varric smirked, earning himself an amused grin from Solas and Elisif just about managed to stop her own laughter. Josephine, to her credit, flushed and looked down, managing an embarrassed little smile.

“You must forgive me, I grew up in Antiva and have spent the majority of my adult life travelling between there and Orlais,” Josephine told her. “Orlais is known for its temperate climate, and as for Antiva, it is summer all year round. It never gets this cold. I must admit, I do miss it.”

Elisif sensed an opening and went for it.

“So tell me about Antiva,” Elisif pressed, leaning in. “Yes, I know you told me a bit about its political system earlier. But that's not the same as hearing about what it's like to live there.”

Josephine didn't need a lot of encouragement to talk about her beloved homeland. And so she launched into a travelogue on Antiva's delights, and Elisif settled in to listen. Perhaps this wasn't going to be as lonely as she'd feared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Leliana made her way down through the village to the Herald's cabin, letter clutched in her hand, not sure what reaction she was going to get. She would have brought Josephine, but the Ambassador was nowhere to be seen. Very odd. But Researcher Minaeve had mentioned something about Josie going to visit the Herald, so here Leliana went, hoping to find them both here. 

No sign of the Herald, but Leliana was surprised to find Cassandra there, knocking peremptorily on the door and trying to peer through the closed shutters.

“Herald!” Cassandra barked. “Herald, open this door! I know you're in there!”

“Do you?” Leliana couldn't help but ask. Seekers had many gifts, but the ability to see through doors was not, Leliana thought, one of them.

If it was, Cassandra wasn't in possession of it, because she sighed, shrugged and admitted her ignorance.

“No,” Cassandra sighed. “But where else would she be. She has hardly left her cabin and I am concerned for her. I thought… well, she is a warrior and recovering from her exertions at the Breach. The common soldiers are all too afraid to spar with her, but I do not fear her. I was hoping to invite her out for training. She should not get out of practice. She is skilled, yes, but has a few bad habits. I do not think she practices as often as she should, and I am certain she'd not faced real combat for some time before she arrived here.”

Leliana had noticed that too, and were it for not that strange voice magic of hers, Elisif might have suffered far worse in the fighting than otherwise. But it was nothing training and practice wouldn't solve, and that was assuming Elisif was in a fair fight. It was Leliana's job to ensure odds were tilted in the Inquisition's favour… and presently, they were not. But the news Leliana had just received might just tip the balance… if they could find the Herald.

“Well, she hasn't answered one way or the other, so we should check on her,” Leliana decided, reaching for the door handle. It turned out to be locked, Elisif's cabin having had one installed, but Leliana was an old hand at getting this sort of thing open. Despite Cassandra's disgusted tutting over the immorality of breaking and entering.

“Oh hush, if she's not in, she'll never know, and Andraste only preached against theft,” Leliana murmured. “There, it's open.”

No sign of Elisif though. The fire had burned down low, the cabin was cold, Elisif's things left lying around… but not her coat or boots. Elisif had gone out for a walk clearly, but where?

Motioning for Cassandra to follow, Leliana went in search of one of her people, eyes lighting on Charter. Agent Charter was lounging by the gates, keeping an eye on the comings and goings, but she stood to attention when Leliana approached.

“Nightingale. Do you have orders for me?”

“Nothing right now,” Leliana assured her. “I'm just looking for the Herald, have you seen her leave?”

At that, Charter broke out into a grin. “In the tavern,” she told her. “But if you want her on official business, you might be better off waiting a few hours.”

“Why – never mind,” Leliana sighed, guessing only too well why someone in a tavern might be presently incapable of paying official attention to anything. “What about Josie? I heard she'd gone to speak with her.”

“Also in the tavern,” Charter said, her smirk broadening. “Nightingale, you might want to keep an eye on the Ambassador. Someone in this town's a bad influence although I'm not entirely sure who.”

Bad influence?? On _Josephine??_ Leliana thanked Charter and returned to Cassandra, not bothering to hide her alarm.

“They're in the Maiden,” Leliana said, dragging the Seeker through the slushy, well-trodden path to the Singing Maiden, Haven's little drinking place. “I have to say, Cassandra, I'm starting to worry.”

“I'm sure nothing too bad can have happened,” Cassandra sighed. “The Herald seems like a sober and serious young woman, and Lady Montilyet certainly is – by the Maker!”

They'd walked into the tavern to be greeted by the sight of Josephine standing up, apparently heedless of the ale spilling everywhere, downing an entire tankard while Varric, Solas and a flushed, bright-eyed Herald of Andraste were all chanting “Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!”

Josephine proudly downed the tankard before sinking back into her chair, clearly the worse for wear.

“Did I win?” Josephine slurred. “Did I?”

“That depends,” Varric said, grinning. “That depends if our Lady Herald can manage the next one without keeling over.”

Said Herald seemed to be swaying a little herself, especially given the tankards strewn all over the table already, but she also looked determined.

“True Nordsh never back down,” Elisif declared, eyes not quite focusing as she reached for the next tankard. “Skyrim'sh honour demandsh it!”

“Oh good, honour's come into it,” Solas sighed. “The bane of proud warrior races everywhere. Loss of face, the dread monster that propels otherwise sane leaders to hold their course even when it becomes obvious it's leading straight into the abyss. Or face down in a ditch in this case.”

“Not me!” Elisif announced, getting to her feet. “Imma gonna win and shtagger 'ome in-in glorioush victry!”

Alas, they never found out if this would be the case. Cassandra, appalled, had strode forward and clapped a hand on Elisif's shoulder, sending her back into her seat.

“Herald!” Cassandra snapped. “Have you been _drinking??_ ”

Elisif gazed up at her, a bit hazy but definitely more focused than she'd been a second ago.

“Yeah,” Elisif said, waving idly at the many empty tankards. “I'm inna tavern. Course I've been drinkin'. We're havin' a contest, me 'n Josie. Wanna join in? Only yourra 'bout three drinks down. Don' worry tho, we'll wait – hey!”

Cassandra had slammed a fist into the wall above her, clearly not amused.

“You are the Herald of Andraste!” Cassandra cried. “You're the Maker's holy emissary! You are meant to be setting an example, not… not getting drunk in some tavern and making an exhibition of yourself!”

Elisif's eyes narrowed, and while Cassandra wasn't afraid of a lot, something about Elisif, even intoxicated, was concerning her. 

“Yourra… _not_ my mother,” Elisif growled, getting to her feet and kicking her chair back, unsteady but determined. “Don' tell me what to do. Imma High Queen! You can' give me ordersh!”

The entire tavern had gone quiet, Cassandra's face was a mask, and Leliana looked up from where she'd gone to check on Josephine, feeling faintly horrified as she realised a fight was brewing and the Inquisition's peacemaker was completely wasted.

“Now, now, Blue-eyes, the Seeker's just concerned,” Varric was saying, motioning for Elisif to back down. Elisif's angry gaze turned to him and Varric hastily backtracked a little.

“Not that she has reason to be, you were just having a friendly drink or two. Or several,” Varric said, eyeing the tankards and realising it was three each in the contest alone, and they'd all had a round or two before that. “Come on, Seeker, this is the first time Blue-eyes has been out of the house for two days, you don't think it's good for her to have a little fun?”

Cassandra did seem to relent a little on this score, having been a bit worried herself, but she still clearly didn't approve… and then to everyone's surprise, Josephine intervened.

“Seeker, don't be angry!” Josephine cried. “It'sh alla my fault!”

Cassandra turned to her, stunned disbelief at the idea that a drinking contest might be the idea of _Josephine Montilyet_. Leliana couldn't believe it either.

“Why's it your fault, Josie?” Leliana asked, confused. Josephine shook her head, curls bouncing as she did so.

“Because – because we were talkin' about our homes an-an national customs, an I told her about Antiva, an' then she told me about Norra-dic tafernsh, cos we're inna tavern, and then she told me about how two Jarls were once shaid to 'ave averted a war with a drinkin' contest, and the winner gotta be High King. Sho… sho I shaid we should 'ave one. To… to shement diplomatic relationsh… an – an Elishif said was I shure, an' I wasn't but said yes anyway, cos thish shtuff's nothin' compared to Antivan brandy, and… and I think I'm winnin'?”

Elisif promptly grabbed her tankard and began downing it, not pausing until she'd consumed the whole thing, before slamming her mug down.

“For the honour of Shkyrim!” Elisif slurred, before collapsing into her seat, eyes fluttering closed… and then without a word, she slumped forward before collapsing bonelessly on the ground in a heap at Cassandra's feet.

“Ugh!” Cassandra grimaced, before bending down and hauling Elisif up, nudging her at least partly awake as she put Elisif's arm round her shoulder and hauled her off.

“Argish?” Elisif whispered, clinging unsteadily on to Cassandra. “Argish? Lydia? Ish tha' you?? I don' feel so good...”

The tavern door closed behind them, mercifully masking the sound of retching as Elisif fell to the floor again, all the booze clearly catching up with her. Cassandra's disgusted moaning was the last thing they heard before the door closed.

“Does tha' mean I won?” Josephine slurred. “It does, doeshent it? I won! I beat the High Queen Herald inna drinking contest!” She looked bright-eyed and excited, but Leliana wasn't fooled. Josephine was probably going to have to be helped to bed sooner rather than later, and someone would have to sit up with her to make sure she didn't choke on her own vomit, and Leliana could guess who this would be. She just hoped Cullen didn't see this or they'd never hear the end of it.

“Yes, you won, Thedas's honour is preserved,” Varric said, grinning. “We are going to have to do this again some time. Nightingale, want to join us?”

“Another time, perhaps,” Leliana said, eyeing up the drunken Antivan by her side. “I think it's time this one had a nap. If you two will excuse us?” 

Josephine protested but didn't actually resist as Leliana helped her up and led her out, leaving elf and dwarf to clear the table and replace the ale with just one drink each.

“Well, Chuckles, I don't think that could have gone any better,” Varric said, satisfied. “Elisif gets out of the house, Josephine gets to unwind, we all get a few hours entertainment, and diplomatic relations get a boost. Everyone's happy. Well, apart from the Seeker, who gets to spend the next few hours babysitting the Herald, but she's never happy anyway.”

“Varric, I swear you are a very strange dwarf,” Solas said, shaking his head. Then a grin broke out as he looked up at Varric. “But you are right. It was entertaining. And I believe Elisif needed it. She's lost and lonely in a strange place and short on people she can trust. We need her, and we need her capable, not pining away because her social supports have gone. If that means we all have to sit in a tavern with her and watch far more drink than we're comfortable with get consumed, then I suppose we can manage that.”

Varric laughed, making himself comfortable. His own heavy drinking days were long behind him, and he wasn't going to encourage drinking contests, far from it. He'd not meant for that to happen today, he'd just not foreseen Elisif getting that reckless, and _Josephine_ of all people suggesting it in the first place. As diplomatic manoeuvres went, it was an unusual one. If, however, it meant a lonely Herald felt less lonely, Varric couldn't bring himself to feel too bad about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Several hours later and Elisif at least was rallying. She'd stopped vomiting at least, which was something. Fortunately Roslinna had turned up to bring Elisif's evening meal, and was appalled and stricken to see her in this state.

“Do not blame yourself,” Cassandra had said wearily to the terrified young elf. “This was not something you could have prevented, nor is it your job. Just help me get her into bed. Then find me some elfroot tonics from Adan. Oh, and a bucket.”

Roslinna had done just that, and now Elisif was lying face down on her bed, whimpering a bit but otherwise not too bad.

“My head,” Elisif whispered. “I don't feel well.”

“After all that ale, I am not surprised,” Cassandra sniffed. “Honestly, you are supposed to be a leader, back in Tamriel if not here. Do you often stoop to drinking contests with dignitaries?”

“Most of them aren't Nords,” Elisif whispered. “I mean, nor is Josie but she did ask. I don't remember what happened, do you know who won?”

“I came in to find Josephine downing an entire tankard and you off your face,” Cassandra said tersely. “Then Josephine admitted she'd suggested the whole thing and was winning. Which is when you downed an entire tankard in ten seconds and passed out.”

“Oh,” was the response. Then an indignant “Oh! Oh _piss_. That means she won! I'm High Queen of Skyrim and I just _lost_ a drinking contest to a woman who doesn't even think to put a coat on when she goes out in the snow?? Stendarr's mercy, if this gets out, they'll want the crown back.”

Cassandra put her head in her hands, about done with this. Politics was tiresome enough at the best of times, dealing with a country where drinking contests were taken seriously as something worthy of a ruler's time and indeed a possible test of her fitness to rule was quite beyond her. 

“Is no good, I'll have to have a rematch,” Elisif was saying. “Or… or beat someone else. Or… _or!_ I know, I introduce her to the other Jarls, get her to have a drinking contest with some of them. If she can drink Balgruuf or Maven under the table, that'll at least mean my reputation's salvaged. Although Maven will cheat. Cassandra, you need to get Josephine some poison antidotes first.”

“ _No!_ ” Cassandra snapped, her patience finally snapping. “We have a hole in the sky to fix, and we need to be taken seriously by either the mage rebellion or the templars so they'll lend us enough power to do that. Your political reputation among your 'Jarls' is a secondary concern!”

Elisif pouted and Cassandra belatedly realised that while it might sound trivial, it could for all she knew be a matter of life and death that would put the Grand Game of Orlais to shame. 

“All right,” Cassandra sighed. “Look, if you do something heroic enough, that will wipe out the memory of one lost drinking contest, will it not? Such as saving the world and finding a whole new land?”

Elisif hesitated before nodding, albeit a little reluctantly.

“I suppose,” Elisif sighed. “And it would only be a humiliation if it had been a matter of life and death. This was just a friendly contest. There's been plenty of stories of Jarls losing a drinking contest and then admitting the best man won and embracing them as a friend. I think in one case they even ended up getting married.”

“Which one was the Jarl, the man or the woman?” Cassandra said, desperately curious as to what sort of culture had drinking contests as a courtship rite – a strange one, to be sure.

“Oh, they were both men,” Elisif said sleepily, at least until she saw the shock on Cassandra's face. “What?? Don't tell me, is same-sex affection taboo or something?”

“No,” said Cassandra uneasily. “But nobles do not normally _marry_ their own sex! Peasants and commoners might live together and no one cares, but nobles rarely marry their own gender. They need children.”

Elisif frowned, but did not argue, just shaking her head.

“Adopt then, Argis and Farkas did,” Elisif said, shrugging. “That's my steward and his husband. They're a cute couple! And my stepdaughter Kaie, she married her girlfriend as well. Although that was after her sister Eola had got pregnant. But yeah, course we allow people to marry same-sex lovers. It's an affront to Mara otherwise.”

“Mara?” Cassandra said, just knowing this was one of their heathen gods, she just knew. “Dare I ask?”

“She's the goddess of love and family,” Elisif said firmly. “And don't you dare insult her, all Tamriel venerates her. She's the patron deity of recovering addicts too. Her priests do good work.”

Cassandra knew full well that pursuing that one any further was just asking for trouble, so she wisely decided not to bother.

“Perhaps you could consider adhering to her teachings then,” Cassandra said, shifting in the chair near the fire that she'd claimed. “Your reputation is yours to manage, but you could at least stop putting Roslinna to trouble. I do not think we pay her enough to regularly dispose of buckets of your vomit.”

Elisif winced and buried her head in her pillow.

“I'll apologise to her,” Elisif whispered. Cassandra nodded, mollified.

“You do that. In the meantime, this… is not entirely your fault,” Cassandra sighed. “You have been adrift and lonely and seized at the first chance for comfort and socialising. This in retrospect was obvious, and we were all at fault for neglecting you. In fact, I was on my way to invite you to a sparring session when Leliana and I discovered you weren't in. You need something to do, that is clear.”

Elisif rolled on to her side, looking up, now a little curious.

“Such as?” 

Cassandra smiled, remembering what Leliana had told her earlier, the whole reason she'd been after Elisif in the first place.

“You know of course that the Chantry has disowned us, and that neither the templars nor rebel mages will take us seriously enough to work with us as yet,” Cassandra said calmly.

Elisif did know, although she had to confess she was a bit vague on the details of what all these factions were. She'd just about worked out the Chantry was the pan-national organised church of the Maker. She knew the Templars were some sort of warrior order working for the Chantry… or had been. Apparently they'd left after some dispute. And the rebel mages? Elisif was less sure about them. What were they rebelling against? Not that she was anyone to talk, not given that she'd married a rebel mage. But all the same, she could do with knowing more about this alleged war the former Chantry warriors were waging against these mages.

“What are these mages rebelling against?” Elisif asked, slowly sitting up, the elfroot tonic starting to kick in and her head clearing.

Cassandra shifted uneasily in her chair, Leliana's speculation that with eight gods, there were likely no Circles in Tamriel coming back to her. She really wasn't sure how Elisif would react to that, but she had no choice but to tell her everything. She'd find out at some point. And Elisif wasn't a mage herself – she seemed to self-define as some sort of holy warrior, gifted by the gods to make the world a better place. A natural Templar, surely?

“I do not know how much of the Chant of Light you have read,” Cassandra said carefully. “But you know the story by now, yes? That Andraste led her armies against the mages of the Tevinter Imperium, liberating all South Thedas in the process. And that her chief commandment was that magic should serve man, not rule over him.”

“And what did she say about women and magic?” Elisif said, raising an eyebrow. Cassandra hissed a bit in frustration.

“Language usage has changed since her time,” Cassandra said tersely. “But it is generally understood that she was referring to mages of all sexes using their gifts to serve their fellow people, not for their personal gain.”

Elisif nodded, seeming to understand.

“So these rebels,” she said. “They're trying to overthrow a government? Or they're using dark magic?”

“No,” Cassandra admitted. “And no – at least, I don't think so. The rebellion leaders aren't doing so, not openly anyway. Plenty of mages outside the core rebellion aren't shy about doing so now no one's keeping watch any more.”

Genuine confusion on Elisif's face, which meant there were no Circles in Tamriel. Nothing for mages to rebel against there, except standard law enforcement. It was what Cassandra had feared. Still, Elisif was not a mage personally. She would understand the need, would she not?

“So why are they rebelling?” Elisif said, puzzled. “Cassandra? What happened?”

Cassandra bowed her head, knowing this would be difficult to explain to an outsider. In her heart, Cassandra herself was no longer sure of the justice or wisdom of the Chantry's decisions. But what was done was done.

“The history is long… and complex,” Cassandra sighed. “But in the end, the Chantry decided that it would be best for mages to live apart from the rest of society and study in peace, and the mages at the time did not disagree. So we created Circles for them to live in and practice their craft, and we assigned the Templar Order to guard them and protect them, from outside threats, each other… and themselves.”

Elisif had gone quiet, and Cassandra could tell she did not like what she was hearing.

“Themselves?” Elisif said softly. “Mages can't sort out their own disputes?”

Cassandra wondered if trying to explain this to a non-mage was going to be as easy as she'd thought.

“You have fought demons, Elisif,” Cassandra said, willing her to understand. “It is an easy thing for a mage to become possessed by one, becoming an abomination, and such things can lay waste to entire communities. It simply was not safe to have mages remaining among ordinary people. So Templars would take them away as soon as their magic manifested, to be trained and educated.”

“When did they get to go home?” Elisif whispered, growing horror in her eyes. Cassandra couldn't conceal her own guilt as she told Elisif that no, they never got to go home, no there was no minimum age limit, no they never had contact with their families again, they lost all rights of inheritance or the ability to marry and raise children, they stopped being people and just became mages, kept away in their Circle tower for the rest of their lives. 

“And if they slip up, the Templars kill them,” Elisif whispered, and Cassandra was shocked to see a tear rolling down one cheek.

“Or apply the Rite of Tranquillity,” Cassandra finished. Elisif did know about that, she'd met Tranquil before, but so far had always believed that it only applied to dangerous rogues, a rare exception applied only after much investigation and a trial. She'd had no idea it had been wielded so routinely, or that all mages were at risk potentially.

“And mages who refuse to join a Circle – no, don't tell me, they're hunted by Templars and either dragged in by force or killed, aren't they,” Elisif said, looking like she was going to vomit again. “And people just go along with this? They just let them take their children?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said quietly. “Elisif, magic is dangerous. The common people of Thedas fear magic. And they are not wrong. It is dangerous. There is always the risk of accidents, demonic possession, a mage lashing out in their sleep or when strong emotions are present. It is best for young mages to be trained in safety, where they cannot harm others. Their families are usually pleased to let them go, in the end. We Seekers saw too many cases where families were afraid to give children up and catastrophe happened. There were deaths – unnecessary ones in most cases.”

Elisif shivered but did not look up. Cassandra wasn't sure if she'd reached her or not. At length, Elisif finally spoke.

“My people are not universally fond of magic, Cassandra,” Elisif said softly. “But I have not had vast numbers of people begging me to deal with mages and lock them up. I have not had to deal with orphan children accidentally burning down entire houses and killing family members. If there's vast numbers of possessed mages wandering around, they're keeping very quiet about it. I cannot say the College is universally beloved, but aside from the Eye of Magnus incident, which was eventually resolved with no civilian deaths, they've been no trouble. All the mages who have given us trouble have done so because they committed crimes, Cassandra. That magic was used wasn't the main issue. So if Skyrim and the Nord people who distrust magic on principle haven't resorted to compulsory imprisonment of anyone showing a shred of magic, why is it necessary here?”

Cassandra took a deep breath and composed a response. A defence of the Chantry, historical context on Andraste's time, repeated assertions that people were frightened? Cassandra had heard all these justifications before.

But faced with Elisif, with the low fury in her voice, a quiet assertion that no, this was not necessary, this wasn't even up for debate, Cassandra couldn't do it. Especially not when Elisif looked up and Cassandra saw tears on her cheeks that Elisif swiftly wiped away.

“It may not be,” Cassandra admitted. “And it is academic now. The mages rebelled. True, loyalists remain, but many of those are older mages or youngsters who did not wish to flee with the rebels. But most of the mages have left their Circles. Some went into hiding. Some have gone rogue and decided that the laws of the land do not apply either. A few have families prepared to take them. But many have flocked to the rebel mage leader, the former Grand Enchanter of the Circle, Fiona. She lost many of her leading lights at the Conclave, but she is still a force to be reckoned with. And Leliana believes we will need her if the Breach is to be closed.”

“Then we need to meet this Fiona,” Elisif said firmly. “Where is she, and how do I get an audience? More to the point, how do we persuade her to help?”

“That is the part we are having trouble with,” Cassandra admitted. “We don't have enough power to be taken seriously, not yet. Not with the Chantry declaring us heretics. We are fortunate in a way that they no longer have Templars in sufficient force to attack.”

“Because the Templars are out there slaughtering any mage that crosses their path,” Elisif whispered, looking like she was about to be sick again, and it occurred to Cassandra this was a very _personal_ reaction to the whole thing, not just the confused response of someone from a land where things were different. Elisif wasn't just confused, she wasn't even simply angry over an injustice. She looked repulsed and terrified at the very idea of mages being forcibly taken away from their families. That sort of response only ever had one origin.

“Who is it?” Cassandra said quietly. “A sibling? A parent? A lover even? No, you said you had a child, didn't you?”

Elisif's guard had gone up, wariness in her every move, and Cassandra knew she'd touched something.

“Maia,” Elisif said, narrowing her eyes. “What of her.”

Maia. An only child, a young child, because Elisif was only just thirty. Heir to Elisif's considerable titles, and with a sick husband, little chance of any siblings. Maia was almost certainly loved and adored by her mother. And little Maia was a mage. 

“When did her magic start showing,” Cassandra said, and Elisif's face flushed pink before she lowered her eyes.

“Early,” Elisif admitted. “And she'd been exposed to it from birth. There's not a lot of magical ability on my side, but her father's family prize theirs. Madanach was using illusion magic to entertain her from the start. In retrospect, I think he started magical training with her early on… but even when he got sick, there were others in her own family who took over. Her half-sisters are gifted mages. So is her aunt. And… she inherited my gifts too. She's also a Dragonborn, and unlike me, she had a tutor and she just picks up Thu'ums and their meaning like she's been doing it all her life – well, she has been, I suppose. But she's a sweet child, a good-natured little thing, everyone loves her, and she's five years old! She's my baby...”

As Cassandra had feared. Elisif was mother to a little mage, and five was young for magic to show, but not unheard of. No wonder she'd reacted badly to the idea of the Circle. Cassandra wondered herself if there was a better way.

Cullen would be predictably appalled that Elisif's first and only choice was meeting the mages, but Leliana at least would be pleased, and Josephine would go with whatever caused the least arguing. Cassandra had a feeling that were she to oppose this, she'd be outnumbered. 

“Then we will see what we can do about getting you that audience,” Cassandra heard herself saying. “I cannot guarantee this will work, but I know Leliana was supportive of this as well, and Josephine will, I think, be prepared to go along with it. And now I know your own reasons for supporting mage freedom… of all of us, if you spoke with her, you might be able to win her round. I think she might believe your sincerity at least.”

“But we need to impress her first,” Elisif said thoughtfully, perking up now she knew this was on the agenda and not being dismissed out of hand. “Any ideas?”

“Just so,” Cassandra said, trying to recall what Leliana had told her. “We have one avenue of interest. A Chantry mother in the Hinterlands has written to us. She has heard of the Chantry's decision and wishes to discuss it with us. Or more specifically, she wishes to meet you.”

“Me?” Elisif said, surprised. “Why me? Does she want proof I'm the Herald? I don't have any!”

“I think rather she just wishes to see for herself what you are like,” Cassandra said, hoping this was true anyway. Leliana had seemed to think her a reasonable sort. “She's willing to help deal with the Chantry for us, but not without a price. And before you give me that look, it is one I think you will be willing to pay. It is one I would be willing to give.”

Elisif narrowed her eyes but motioned for Cassandra to continue.

“Simply put, she is helping refugees from the mage-templar war, and will not leave them until she is sure they are safe,” Cassandra told her. “She has asked the Inquisition's aid in this, and we have agreed. Leliana is sending scouts in and Cullen has Inquisition troops ready to leave. But she wishes to speak with you as well. Give your name and your blade to the Inquisition relief efforts and speak with Mother Giselle on the Inquisition's behalf, convince her to assist us. That is what we need from you, Elisif. If it means you are doing something more productive than getting our Ambassador drunk, that is a helpful side benefit.”

Elisif had sufficient sense to look at least a bit penitent over this, and she nodded, chastened.

“All right. I'll talk to her,” Elisif promised. “If there's at least one Chantry priestess willing to see reason, we can't pass that up.”

Relieved that Elisif wasn't completely irresponsible, Cassandra left her to rest and took her leave. The others would no doubt be pleased to hear this, although Cassandra decided to leave this until morning. Leliana had her own drunken wastrel to put to bed after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Honestly, Josie, you can't keep doing things like this,” Leliana scolded as Josephine lay face down on the bed in the small room in the Chantry that they shared, moaning into the pillows. “Neither of us are as young as we used to be, and a drinking contest? What were you thinking? Nobles don't have drinking contests.”

“Nords do,” Josephine sighed, still not looking up. “Apparently it's an accepted means of proving one's worthiness, settling disputes… and courtship.”

“Courtship?” Leliana pulled up a seat, intrigued and alarmed. “She was courting you? Josie, she's married! Or… were you courting her? Josie… she's married.”

“No!” Josephine gasped. “I mean… no! She's pretty, yes but… that wasn't why I suggested it! I was trying to get a feel for her culture, not her – not anything crass!”

“For her culture,” Leliana noted, trying not to grin or act as if it was some sort of euphemism, not entirely successfully. “And what did you learn? Other than that these Nords are utter barbarians who drink too much.”

“Four pints of strong Fereldan ale in quick succession led to her being carried home by Cassandra Pentaghast,” Josephine said, glancing up, grin on her face. “She is not so used to hard drinking as she makes out. I do not believe drinking contests are as common among Nords of the noble class as she implied, and I certainly believe it is not common for women to take part. She seemed surprised I suggested it.”

“ _I'm_ surprised you suggested it,” Leliana said, although honestly, she wasn't THAT surprised. Josephine had a well-hidden wild side – but most wouldn't know that. Elisif wouldn't have, and Leliana had a feeling the gossips of Haven would be talking of this for weeks.

Josephine just smiled. “A good ambassador makes sure to engage others on their own terms. You cannot truly reach agreement without understanding the other side, and how they see the world. You need to know what they see as important if you want to have any hope of bargaining with them.”

“And did you learn anything?” Leliana asked, wondering if Josephine was going to be sober enough to make anything useful out at all. Chances were good she would not remember a lot of this, although the elfroot cordial was certainly helping.

“Yes,” Josephine said, smile fading. “Leliana… we are in trouble.”

Leliana finished putting Josephine's ale-soiled shirt in the laundry basket and turned back to where Josephine was huddled under the bed-linens, hair now loose around her shoulders as she sat there in the firelight, looking deeply concerned about something. In trouble was not what Leliana wanted to hear.

“Why?” Leliana said, returning to the fireside and settling down on the stool, ignoring the clinking of her chainmail as she did so. She wore it so often she was used to it by now. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes and no,” Josephine said cryptically. “When we discovered she was the heir to an Empire – I feared we had an autocratic brat on our hands, one who might complain about everything or insist on the exact protocol she was used to at home being followed, or go to pieces entirely from culture shock. I was worried the last one was happening actually, which is why I went to see her. She was in better shape than I thought, you will be pleased to know.”

“That's a good thing, surely?” Leliana said, wondering where 'in trouble' fitted in to all this. “We don't all have your patience, Josie.”

“No,” Josephine sighed. “That is the problem. You will not find yourself losing patience with her. She's likeable, friendly, tolerant of minor missteps, willing to meet people halfway, understanding. If you were at a dinner she was hosting and used the wrong fork out of nerves, she would likely imitate you so as to spare your blushes. She has a natural charm and refreshing openness you simply do not see in most nobles. In short, she's a genuinely good person.”

“You fear she will be taken advantage of?” Leliana said, pondering this. A flaw in the Great Game, to be sure, but not an insurmountable one. Besides, their Herald needed to be above reproach. An icon needed to be, well, iconic. It wouldn't do to have a Herald of Andraste that turned out to be an egocentric nightmare. Leliana could handle the inevitable dirty work when it arose. Hadn't she done the same for Justinia all these years?

“No,” Josephine said quietly. “No, that's the problem. I fear she will be near impossible to sway or suborn. It is not the little things we need fear, Leliana. It is that she will come across something in our culture that appals her so deeply she can no longer in all honesty call us friends. She will not care what we call her. She will not care if the precise genuflections appropriate to a future Empress are omitted. She will take offence at something we have not even thought about, and withdraw in shock. That is the problem, Leliana, and I don't even know what might cause it. She's a holy warrior, but not an Andrastian! And I fear what might prompt her wrath.”

Not an Andrastian. Few humans ever even met a non-Andrastian, much less gave thought to what they believed. But Leliana was not most humans. Leliana believed in the Maker, but Leliana and Justinia had long sat up discussing the Chantry's flaws. Leliana by this point had a fair idea what might be a problem.

“The Chant of Light says that the Maker will not return until the Chant is sung from all corners of the world,” Leliana mused. “And the world is bigger than we thought. Elves and dwarves are of no consequence to most humans in Thedas and Qunari are barely thought of as people. But a whole continent of non-Andrastian humans… that will be seen as a challenge. We'll need to head that off.”

“That will bother Thedosians,” Josephine snapped. “It will not bother her.”

“And what else would?” Leliana sighed. “The Grand Game of Orlais? It's hardly universal. The Blights? We cannot help that and who isn't repulsed by darkspawn? The Circles? The mages are already rebelling. Many in Haven even support them. Me included. The alienages? She already knows of those. And if it is something they do that we don't – she does not expect us to follow her customs, surely. Josie, don't worry. We will keep her close, build a friendship, ensure that if something appals her so deeply we can at least talk to her about it. You said yourself you've established an understanding already. She's just a person like any other. You can deal with people, surely.”

“She's not like any other,” Josephine whispered, lying back down on the pillow, and it occurred to Leliana that Josephine was still under the influence, both of the ale and Elisif's smile. Josephine might just be a little bit in awe here.

“Nor is anyone else,” Leliana said, drawing the covers up to Josephine's chin and stroking her hair back. “You get some rest. It's going to be all right. We're not going to go to war with Tamriel. Elisif isn't going to run screaming in horror when she finds out something she doesn't like. It's going to be fine.”

“Everything will be fine,” Josephine whispered, closing her eyes. “Andraste watch over us all.” 

Leliana kept right on smiling even as Josephine drifted off into a troubled sleep. Maybe Josie was right. Or maybe she was overreacting. It wouldn't be the first time. But Leliana felt calm. Leliana knew it would be all right. Leliana would do whatever was necessary to maintain peace and save the world. Elisif's triumphant victory would be optimal, of course. But if the Herald of Andraste died a tragic death while saving them all… Leliana felt the Maker would understand.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a mage daughter to protect and a world to save, Madanach and friends are off to persuade the rebel mages to take them in. But their leader is no fool, and mages belonging to no known Circle, nation or indeed species can't help but cause a stir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Madanach meets the mages! I really did like writing this one. It turns out Fiona was massively awesome to write, which means you'll be seeing rather more of her than in game, also I decided to bring in a character that doesn't appear in DAI but who I missed from a previous game. So they're in.

Redcliffe thankfully wasn't far away. Only a few hours in fact. So they left Blackwall's little hut around lunchtime, and it would have been a little earlier had Maia not had to be torn away from the oddly coloured orange ram she'd befriended, called Lord Woolsley apparently.

“Maia, for Sithis' sake, leave the ram behind,” Madanach growled. “This is his home. He lives here.”

“Not always!” Maia protested. “He told me he lives in Redcliffe as well during the winter, with his friend, one-eyed Jimmy.”

“Well, one-eyed Eola is telling you to leave the ram here,” Eola sighed, intervening before her father lost his temper. “If he lives in Redcliffe as well, he can maybe meet us there later, right?”

Maia looked as if this had not occurred to her before, gasping in amazement, before whispering to Lord Woolsley and then announcing he said he'd follow them later.

Madanach would agree to anything if it kept Maia quiet and behaving herself, so he told her to say goodbye, wearily agreed to say goodbye to Lord Woolsley as well, as did Eola and indeed Cicero, and then they were off. 

They skirted round the refugee camp at the crossroads, a known magnet for Templars, and even ran into a few wary scouts from something called the Inquisition, who might have attacked… but saw a little girl with wide eyes and a frog toy, and promptly waved them past.

There was another Fade Rift blocking the road ahead, and a fight with the demons it spawned… but with Blackwall as well, they won with ease. And then Maia shouted it shut again, and Blackwall sank to his knees in shock.

“By the Maker, did she just…?” Blackwall gasped. Maia just grinned back at him, looking very proud of herself as the sealed Rift swirled in the air above her.

“Yeah,” Madanach said, patting Maia proudly. “Told you my girl was a prodigy, isn't that right, Maia?”

Maia kept smiling and her grin broadened as Eola quietly translated for her.

“That's no kind of magic I ever saw,” Blackwall said, mind reeling. Was this a common skill? Could any other mages do this? But Blackwall had never seen that sort of thing before. Not from one so young. Not that he was a great authority on magic, of course. But all the same, this was unusual.

“It isn't. Common, that is,” Madanach said, growing sombre. “Her mother's the only other one with that talent. Don't overestimate it, though. The talent has its drawbacks and Maia isn't all-powerful. She's still just a little girl. And that rift isn't gone… just dormant.”

“It's not spewing demons and that'll do me,” Blackwall said, getting to his feet. Maia was still beaming at him and without thinking, Blackwall patted her head. Maia squeaked and then cuddled him before gazing up at him happily then running to her father, asking him something with some excitement.

Madanach stared at her, snapped what was clearly a very emphatic no, before frowning back at him then back to her, clearly demanding to know what she was on about. All the other three were trying not to laugh, but Maia was determined and now pouting and Blackwall had a feeling he now knew the Tamrielic for “why???”

Exasperated response from Madanach, then Maia slyly pointing something out that annoyed her father because he narrowed his eyes and was very firm in his reply to her… if a little defensive. And then he repeated an earlier phrase, before seeing her lip starting to tremble. Then he seemed to give in, kneeling down next to her and patiently explaining something to her.

More pouting and then Maia saying something sad, almost pleading with him… but Madanach's response, accompanied by a heartfelt pout of his own, seemed to win her round, because she now hugged him, contrite and horrified. Madanach murmured something, smiling as he scooped her up, intending to carry her for a bit, or maybe just enjoy a cuddle on the move. Blackwall sidled over to a still sniggering Cicero and Eola, who'd dropped back to whisper.

“What was she asking?” Blackwall murmured. Cicero and Eola exchanged glances before more giggling broke out, sly looks from both at him.

“We should not tell him,” Cicero whispered. “It would be embarrassing!”

“But less embarrassing than when she learns the language and asks directly,” Eola noted, correctly guessing this would drive him insane all journey otherwise. “Blackwall, darling, you have an admirer!”

“An admirer – wait, you don't mean...” Blackwall indicated Maia, watching him from over her father's shoulder, still beaming at him.

“Yes!” Cicero cackled. “Maia was asking her father if she could marry you!”

Maker's balls, what? Blackwall had to wonder if he'd heard that right.

“He said no,” Eola helpfully put in. “Along with a huge dose of she's too young to get married, and where did she get that idea from anyway. But Maia pointed out her mama was younger than him, and also she'll have to get married one day.”

“But don't worry!” Cicero chirped. “You are safe! Madanach resorted to emotional blackmail and told her he would be very sad if she got married and went away and spent all her time with a husband and not him, and now she is no longer pressing the issue.”

Blackwall really wasn't sure how he felt about this, but Maia was now dozing on her father's shoulder, and it was only Liriel's quick reactions that stopped Frogella being dropped onto the road. The elf tucked the frog into Eola's pack for safekeeping, and all proceeded uneventfully… until they reached the standoff up ahead.

Mages, from the look of it. Two groups, one larger than the other, but also with a greater percentage of children, teenagers and silver-haired elders, while the other was adults in their prime. Warriors facing up to a group of mainly non-combatants, and the male leader of one group was facing up to the dark-haired, pale-skinned woman in her late twenties who was speaking for the others.

“We mean you no harm. We're just passing through,” she was saying firmly. “We're fellow mages, we're not interested in fighting.”

“I can tell that,” the man sneered. “Children, elders and Tranquil. What happened to your fighters, _enchanter?_ ”

The woman glared, and all three mages felt the sudden rise of power. This one was probably all the fighter the group needed.

“We're _not_ warriors,” she repeated. “We're here to see the Grand Enchanter. Are you with her?”

Smug grins and laughter from the mages, and the leader spat on the floor.

“Hide in Redcliffe with the Grand Enchanter?” he laughed. “When we could be out taking the fight to the Templars? No thanks. We left the Circles, enchanter. We're not bound by their laws and don't intend to act like it. You should consider joining us. Ditch these weaklings. Let the Templars find them.”

The woman's magic intensified, and she let her staff slide off her shoulder and into her hand.

“We're done talking,” she said, magic already flaring, and before any of her opponents could cast, one spell had slammed into the ground and sent them flying.

“Go, I'll hold them off!” she cried, as her followers already began to move, a few of the fitter ones joining her… and a few older mages who apparently weren't done with their fighting days yet.

Madanach was already putting Maia down, sensing an opportunity, not to mention a good fight.

“Maia, cariad, go and take cover, I need to teach some very bad people a thing or two about harassing innocent travellers, there's a good girl,” Madanach said calmly. “Borkul, we're siding with that pretty dark-haired mage with the talent for Extreme Telekinesis, go and tear into her foes, hmm?”

“Don't need to tell me twice!” Borkul laughed, leaving his pack behind and unslinging Volendrung, dodging the fireballs from Madanach as he charged the enemy lines, while Liriel and Eola were both casting mage armour and letting loose with magic of their own. Blackwall raised his shield and followed, and who knew where Cicero had gone. Blackwall was sure he'd not gone far, and soon the arrows proved it. But he had better things to think of than Cicero. Raising his shield, Blackwall bellowed a challenge at the ringleader, the one who'd been harassing the lady mage in charge.

The ringleader turned to face him and despite sending lightning his way, Blackwall powered on through, and the shield bash sent the mage staggering back. Blackwall didn't wait for him to get up before swinging the sword down… only to find himself frozen in place.

Blood magic. And Blackwall couldn't defend himself at all. All he could do was try and glance over at the horrified lady mage, who was cursing them all but too busy keeping other mages off the children to help him.

And then the unfortunate mage who'd been trying blood magic on him choked and gurgled as Cicero's knife slit his throat, and the apostate ringleader began screaming as his blood veins turned dark red, smoke rising off his skin.

Madanach walked into view, blood dripping from his own arm and dark magic radiating out at the mage, and trust Blackwall's luck, it turned out Madanach wasn't any better than these apostates. Well, it seemed he was a better combat mage, because that black war axe of his swung down and decapitated the not-so-cocky any more apostate.

Healing magic promptly sealed Madanach's wounds, and Blackwall was free again. Only to find the attacking apostates were dead or fled, Cicero was seeing to the throat-cutting… and the lady mage was holding her staff to block Madanach.

“No further,” she said primly. “I saw what you just did! Blood magic!”

“Yeah, and – wait, let me guess. Templars didn't look too kindly on it, did they?” Madanach sighed, sheathing his axe. “If it makes you feel any better, I'm not a habitual user of it.”

“They _all_ say that,” the woman hissed, and Blackwall had a feeling this was going to end badly… until Maia broke cover and ran to her father's side.

“Ta-dai!” Maia cried, the meaning being clear to all as she clung on to her father's kilt, and Madanach picked her up, correctly guessing he wasn't going to get hexed on principle when he had his little girl in his arms.

Madanach murmured to his little girl in their own language, but Maia wasn't comforted, turning to the lady mage.

“No hurt!” Maia cried. “No hurt ta-dai!”

The mage stared at her then threw up her hands in frustration.

“By the Maker,” she sighed. “You're a blood mage with a little girl willing to act as your human shield?”

“I'm a father trying to keep an eye on my little girl here, trying to find her mother, I'm a mage in a strange land, and it turns out magic makes the entire populace anxious,” Madanach sighed. “Very occasionally, I employ blood magic, and in that case it was because the best way to dispel blood magic spells is to employ them yourself, and I'd already seen one of his friends use it. Wasn't taking the risk of him wreaking havoc on our people. Name's Madanach. This is Maia, my youngest. That over there is my other daughter, Eola, and that's Cicero, her husband. Also with us are my Tal-Vashoth bodyguard Borkul, our resident scholar Liriel, and Blackwall of the Grey Wardens, who's decided to travel with us after we helped with some darkspawn trouble.”

“Did you use blood magic on them as well?” the mage said without pausing. Blackwall felt his heart stop, glancing at Madanach to see how he was taking this, and was surprised to see him laugh.

“No,” he said, smiling. “We went for fireballs instead, and let Cicero here sort out the alpha. In the end, they weren't as hard to kill as we'd heard.”

“Perhaps you should consider taking the Joining yourself then,” the mage replied tartly… and then she sighed, seeming to relent. “Is Maia really your little girl – wait, yes, I can see it in the eyes. And she clearly loves you, it seems.” And then she turned light brown eyes on Blackwall, and Blackwall's ability to focus on anything else seemed to fall away. He'd not got a proper look at her before. He'd not realised she was quite that attractive.

“So, you're a Grey Warden then. Been travelling with them long?” she asked. She'd put her staff away at least, that was something.

“I – yes. I mean, not long,” Blackwall said, trying to get a grip on himself. Honestly, he was in no place to have someone in his life again. No one deserved to have him dragging them down. So with effort he pulled himself back on topic. “I found them being attacked by Templars, ma'am. Took them back to mine, as they aren't familiar with the area, and they helped deal with some darkspawn in a nearby dwarven ruin. Now I'm escorting them to Redcliffe. Madanach here wants to help the rebellion out.”

Raised eyebrows and a slow shake of the head from the mage but also a certain sense of resignation from her.

“And do you trust him? Any of them?” she asked. 

Blackwall had to think about that one. For some things, no. Madanach had his own agenda and would pursue it regardless of the cost. And yet he'd helped stop darkspawn at risk to his own life. And wasn't his stated agenda currently to sort out the rifts and in the process secure better conditions for mages, not to mention draw out a wife who apparently couldn't resist heroics?

“I think so,” Blackwall said, aware of how uncertain he sounded but knowing it was the best he could manage. “Considering I've not known him very long. But he seems sincere at least. He's got his own motives, that's for sure. But he mostly just wants to get his little one to safety and find her mother. He'll co-operate if he thinks it'll bring him closer to that, and he's no fan of Templars.”

The mage nodded and then to his surprise, smiled. Which was a horrible mistake because now Blackwall wanted to see that smile again, and he had a horrible feeling there'd come a day he couldn't stop himself destroying them both to do it.

“That's what I thought,” she laughed. “Although I mostly just wanted to make sure you weren't being mind-controlled. Which you're not or you'd have been an enthusiastic supporter. Blood magic's just not that subtle.”

“I am standing right here, you know!” Madanach called over, glowering at her, and now the others had joined them, one be-tusked bodyguard who couldn't help but look unfriendly, one wide-eyed grinning Harlequin who exuded an aura of imminent murderousness even at his friendliest, one elven scholar who looked liked no elf Blackwall had ever seen and who had a tendency to use 'human' as if it was an insult, and then there was Eola, who was pretty, calm, quite reasonable… and would remain that way even while dissecting darkspawn, it turned out. They had internal organs, apparently, much like a human's, and Eola's enthusiasm over what she'd learned had been almost enough to put Blackwall off food for life. 

All told, they weren't exactly the walking advert for good mages, or good anyone else. But Madanach did care for his children, at least, and Maia loved him. He wasn't beyond redemption.

“He's not all bad?” Blackwall offered. “And I think he's with us. For now.”

“I'll take the word of a Warden then,” the mage laughed, before her smile faded a little. “I'm from Ferelden. Grew up in Lothering. Mother and my siblings and I, we had to run from the darkspawn. Marian and Carver were at Ostagar, they only just got back home in time before the Blight hit. Carver, my twin… he didn't make it. I… I'll always respect Wardens for what they do. I couldn't do it. Bethany Hawke, at your service. I was an enchanter in Kirkwall's Circle before… well, before. Now I'm looking after the rest of my Circle, the ones who can't fight or just wanted a quiet life, who didn't want to be on the run. I couldn't take them to another Circle, so we've travelled instead. But we lost people anyway, and, well, we can't keep running, can we? So in the end we decided to find the rebels. With the Conclave, we hoped there might be peace. But it's not worked out that way.”

An understatement if ever there was one. Blackwall glanced at Madanach, feeling for the young mage, and Madanach seemed to be as well.

“We noticed,” Madanach said, voice dry. “I take it the Rifts aren't normal.”

“I've never seen anything like it before,” Bethany whispered. “It's like the Veil's ripped apart at the seams! And demons! I don't know who did this, I don't even know if Fiona will know. But she might be able to find out.”

“If she can't, we might,” Madanach said, patting Maia. “We're heading that way too. I need somewhere safe for Maia to stay, and given the hostility to magic in these parts, the mage rebellion seems our best option.”

Maia was gazing forlornly at Bethany, and the presence of a small, sad-eyed child had a way of winning her over. 

“Poor thing,” Bethany said, pouting at Maia, who recognised an expression of sympathy when she saw it and started to smile a little.

“She doesn't speak the language yet, not very well anyway,” Madanach told Bethany. “The method we used… I wasn't sure I wanted Maia to undergo it. Not given she learns languages fast anyway.”

“Children do,” Bethany said, before turning her attention to Maia. “Hello, little one! I – am – Bethany. Beth-a-ny.”

“Beth-a-ny,” Maia repeated, frowning at the unfamiliar words. “I am Bethany?”

Knowing laughs all round from the adults and Bethany smiled.

“No. I am Bethany. You are?”

“I am Bethany, you are,” Maia repeated, brows knotting together in concentration before she got it. “Oh! You are Bethany! I am… I am Maia!”

“Clever girl!” Bethany laughed, falling into step next to Madanach as they started to move on towards Redcliffe. “All right, let's do family members next. My mother and father were Leandra and Malcolm. Your father is Madanach?”

Maia was a lot quicker with the pronoun switch this time and soon not only was Maia loudly proclaiming in the Thedosian common tongue that her father was Madanach, she was able to identify her mother as Elisif. And that Elisif was really pretty, like Bethany.

Blackwall fell behind and watched, feeling something like jealousy gnawing at him as he watched Madanach carrying his little girl and chatting amiably with Bethany, who for her part seemed to think Maia was adorable. Well of course she did, Maia was adorable, but more than that, Bethany was clearly the maternal type. Apparently she'd been made enchanter relatively young precisely because she was really good with young apprentices torn away from home. Blackwall guessed mages had to take whatever parental opportunities they could get – he knew Circle mages couldn't marry and weren't allowed to raise any kids they did have. 

It was very ironic that, post-rebellion, Bethany might now be able to have kids of her own, and indeed that Madanach the mage was successfully parenting his own children, whereas Blackwall, with not a shred of magic in his entire body, was stopped by his own foolish decisions from ever enjoying that.

_Bad enough I traded another man's death. I can't pass on another man's name to my kids._

Or lie to his wife in their marriage vows. Blackwall had some standards. He'd kept to himself, avoided human contact, avoided forming ties. He'd accepted he'd likely never marry or have kids, he thought he'd made his peace with that. But watching Bethany Hawke dote on a little girl was undoing everything, demolishing every hard-built wall he'd built inside.

_Stop it. That life is not for you._

But it could be. And try as he might, Blackwall couldn't shake the image of Bethany looking up at him and smiling, holding their child in her arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Redcliffe wasn't far away, not at all, and while the guards were a little wary, the mage rebellion had been there for some time and they were all used to mages drifting in by this point.

Maia's language abilities were coming on in leaps and bounds, and by the time they'd arrived, she'd befriended some of the younger apprentices – a little brown-skinned Orlesian called Suzette, a little elf with big blue eyes and overlarge pointed ears called Lucy, and a small blonde boy called Gerrard who didn't talk much and spent most of his time being talked over by Suzette, the clear leader of the three. The three children were the youngest by far of the apprentices, all the others being in their early teens and with no time for a bunch of little kids. And the three were apparently fascinated by a little mage girl who _still had her father._ So they'd taken her under their wing and were now trying to teach her the language.

Madanach was feeling fiercely proud of her. This might just have been a good idea after all.

And so they made their way in, were greeted by a few mages from the rebellion, Borkul and Liriel only getting a few stares, and were conducted through to where the Grand Enchanter was holding court, in what appeared to be the tavern.

Fiona turned out to be a short elven woman in her middle years, dressed in what Madanach was coming to recognise as standard Circle-issue robes which had clearly seen better days… and yet there was an authority to her that was undeniable, and Madanach realised he could sense her magicka, bound lightly but still obvious to any mages in the vicinity. Someone not to be crossed, surely.

And yet her smile was welcoming.

“Well now,” Fiona said, surveying them all, and in particular Madanach and Bethany, nominated as the spokesmages. “It's rare we get so many of you joining at once, especially three years into the rebellion. Are you all from the same Circle, and where were you all this time? The only ones still functioning by this point are Hasmal and Montsimmard. Hasmal's small and its remaining mages are working with the Templars. And as for Montsimmard, well, with a First Enchanter like theirs, who is surprised? But as for others… we thought them all accounted for, one way or another.” Fiona tilted her head. “Care to introduce yourself?”

Madanach glanced at Bethany, who stepped forward, steeling herself and bowing awkwardly.

“Grand Enchanter,” Bethany said stiffly. “I represent the remaining mages of Kirkwall Circle. I am Enchanter Bethany Hawke.”

“First Enchanter Hawke!” one of the mages behind her called, with agreement from some of the others. Fiona did raise an eyebrow, and clearly that meant something because half the room had started whispering… at least until Fiona raised a hand for silence.

“Bethany _Hawke?_ ” Fiona said, intrigued. “From Kirkwall? That's not a coincidence, is it.”

Bethany straightened up, trying to look unaffected but not entirely succeeding. 

“I'm the Champion of Kirkwall's sister, yes,” Bethany said, grimacing. “And no, I don't know where she is now. She doesn't stay in one place for very long and nor do I. I don't know where Anders is either.”

“A shame,” Fiona murmured, but her eyes had lit up. “We could do with Marian Hawke and the famous Anders here. Quite a lot of people here think he's a hero.”

Bethany's eyes flashed and her magic flared and clearly she didn't think so.

“A hero??” Bethany snapped. “He destroyed half of Kirkwall, hundreds of people died, including half the Circle, my mentor and a lot of friends of mine, and we all lost our home! We've been pariahs ever since!”

The room had gone ominously silent and Fiona was frowning. Madanach tried to piece all this together. Bethany's sister, some sort of senior figure in a city called Kirkwall. Bethany, a mage in the Circle there… although clearly not since childhood, because Bethany had spoken of growing up in Ferelden, only leaving because of the Blight… and fleeing with her family, not her Circle. And someone called Anders, linked to the Hawke sisters, who'd clearly done something drastic in the service of mage rights, for which the Circle of Kirkwall had been blamed. Madanach would have thought the rebel mages would be celebrating, and clearly many of Fiona's people did, but evidently Bethany wasn't so pleased. But why, was the question. Fortunately, Fiona asked before he could.

“Are you a Loyalist then?” Fiona said, surprised. “Wouldn't you be better off in Montsimmard? Enchanter Vivienne might welcome the propaganda coup of the Champion's sister joining her.”

“I'm an _Aequitarian!_ ” Bethany snapped, grimacing. “I never… I never wanted any of this to happen! Maybe I grew up an apostate, but I went to the Circle willingly in the end! I'd spent my entire childhood fleeing the Templars! I didn't want to have to keep doing it!”

“So why did you?” Fiona asked, seeming more curious now than annoyed. “We wondered where the rest of the Circle of Kirkwall went. We assumed a lot died in the chaos, and we did have a few drift in, but relatively few compared to many other places. Why has it taken you so long to surface?”

And here Bethany did look a little abashed.

“No one would have us,” Bethany said softly. “We couldn't stay in Kirkwall. The rebellion proper didn't start for another year. So we moved around. We kept away from populated areas. We did… things I'm not proud of to survive. Even when the rebellion started, we stayed away. We had no First Enchanter to send to the voting, after all. Despite what they call me now, we aren't a Circle. So we kept a low profile, and we'd have stayed away longer… but we were running low on supplies, goodwill and places to go. When we heard about the Conclave, we made for Ferelden again, hoping for news… but with this many of us, we travel slowly. Then the demons… and the Rifts! We had no idea what was going on, but we knew mages would be blamed. So we decided, safety in numbers, and decided to find you. There'd be protection at least, and maybe we could find out what was happening. So, here we are.”

“Here you are,” Fiona agreed. “Well now, this is an interesting turn of events, Enchanter Hawke. Part of me wonders if perhaps I should be sending you on your way… but after the Conclave, I need all the help I can get. I sent many of my best to handle the initial negotiations. I lost them all to darkest treachery. Now here comes the sister of one of the few non-mages to openly champion us. Maybe you don't entirely share her views, but nevertheless you are here and here willingly. If I send you away, what then? Do you risk the journey over the Frostbacks to Madame De Fer's people? Do I get to hear of Enchanter Vivienne parading a Hawke at her side and claiming your support for a return to mage slavery? I don't believe that would help anyone but her, and nor, I think, do you. I see tired and exhausted and possibly a little resentful mages who miss a secure home and regular meals and safety of a sort. But I don't see any of you missing the Templars and the ever-present risk of Tranquillity. You are tired of running, I know. But when running is no longer an option, what will you choose? Surrender again? Or will you fight?”

Bethany inhaled and turned to her people, clearly seeking an answer, and Madanach had to admire the Grand Enchanter. This woman was leader for a reason and it was taking all his self-control not to shout 'we fight!' in response and offer to lead the charge. All in good time. Bethany was answering this one, not him.

“Enchanter, we can't keep running,” one mage said, an older man who looked exhausted. “If we made for Montsimmard, half of us would never survive the journey.”

True, but not an answer. Bethany nodded and looked at the others.

“And if Templars come here?” Bethany said, surveying them all. “What then?”

Silence and exchanged glances, and then one, an older woman with silver hair stepped forward.

“First Enchanter,” she said deliberately. “I know you won't own that title, but we all think it of you. You've led us this far and we didn't turn away. We'll keep following you, and anyone who disagrees is welcome to try the mountain passes. In winter. With demons on the prowl.”

Bethany smiled faintly, looking rather proud of her mages.

“And if Templars come?” Bethany repeated. “If they find us here with Fiona's people, they will not accept a surrender. We will have to fight.”

The older woman actually smiled broadly, wicked glint in her eyes. 

“Let them come,” she grinned. “I had two children and never found out where they went. And I had a lover made Tranquil for allegedly using blood magic despite the fact I know he never dabbled, and that someone else framed him to divert attention from themselves. I'm an old woman, Bethany, and death will find me eventually. If I die, I die with my staff in hand.”

The other Kirkwallers were all nodding, from the oldest mages to apprentices in their teens looking for a fight, and even the children looked grim. Even Maia was looking excited, whispering to Eola to find out what was going on, and Eola whispering back, and then he heard Maia exclaim “oh! You mean victory or Sovngarde!”

Madanach loved his daughter, and indeed his wife, regardless of their ancestry, but all the same, he could wish Maia a little less Nordic sometimes. Mainly because Fiona's attention had slid to the little girl who'd just spoken a language none of them knew.

Bethany flushed a little, but acted as if Maia had never spoken. She turned back to Fiona and clenched her fist, raising it to her chest.

“Grand Enchanter,” Bethany said deliberately. “Kirkwall Circle has spoken. If Templars try to take us back… we fight with you.”

“Then be welcome, Bethany Hawke,” Fiona said, actually smiling and seeming genuinely pleased with the outcome. “Lysas, find Enchanter Hawke and her people some suitable accommodation, won't you? Oh, and Bethany, we have our Council of Enchanters' meeting twice a week. I'd be pleased to see you in attendance. We're short on members, and your people should have some representation.”

Bethany actually gasped, before immediately accepting. Fiona nodded, and then a young male elf who was presumably Lysas stepped up to lead them away. Madanach was on the verge of following… until Fiona called him back.

“Wait. You in the black… whatever that outfit is supposed to be.”

There was considerable amusement in her tone, but Madanach still cursed. He'd hoped to blend in with the Kirkwallers. Alas it was not to be. Sighing, Madanach turned to face her, aware of Maia's hand slipping into his, Eola and Cicero drawing closer, Liriel hovering nervously at his shoulder, and Borkul and Blackwall also there. And Bethany Hawke, dropping back as if to protect them. That was rather sweet of her.

“Grand Enchanter,” Madanach said, inclining her head. “A pleasure.”

“That's an interesting ensemble you have there,” Fiona purred, raising an eyebrow as she looked him up and down. “Are the skulls real? And are those gold-plated feathers?”

“The skulls are gold-plated iron,” Madanach admitted. “The feathers are solid gold twine. I admit I own less conspicuous outfits but this is my best armour.”

“I don't doubt it,” Fiona said, amused. “But wherever did you find it? It looks very expensive, not something any Circle would ever craft, and if you wished to wear something that proclaims 'dangerous apostate' to the world, you could not have done better. And yet there you are, travelling with a small child who looks like a human Fereldan, surely a situation in which you'd prefer not to attract attention. A child who was speaking a language I don't recognise, and I am familiar with cultures from all over Thedas.” Fiona stepped forward, watching him intently. “I don't believe we've been introduced, have we? I am Fiona, former Grand Enchanter of the Circles of Magi, and leader of the mage rebellion. Why don't you tell me who you are? I don't think you were ever part of Kirkwall Circle… or any other.”

Madanach glanced at Eola, who'd come to join him on his other side, Cicero at her back. Borkul meanwhile had come to stand behind Maia, folding his arms and grimacing at Fiona. To her credit, she barely flinched. 

“You are correct,” Madanach said, inclining his head. “I'm not from round here, and the only reason we understand each other is because we're using magic to understand your language. I was never part of any Circle. Had I been, the rebellion would have happened decades ago.”

Fiona's eyebrows shot up, a little gasp of not-quite-outrage escaping her mouth, but she remained calm.

“I'm an elf in her fifties, it took time to get to the top and we have events in Kirkwall to thank for making a rebellion possible in the first place,” Fiona replied, suspicion in her eyes. “But if you think you know a thing or two about organising a mage rebellion, then by all means share your expertise.”

A rhetorical device, to be sure. But Madanach decided he'd never get a better opening. He bowed and introduced himself.

“Madanach ap Caradach, King of the Reachmen and former leader of the Forsworn Rebellion. I say former, because we won and now we have a kingdom. And while we are not all mages, enough of us are that our opponents called us the witchmen. If you want someone on your council that can take mages and turn them into an army, you are in luck. Happy to be of service.”

To no surprise whatsoever, Fiona's expression was one of total scepticism.

“I see. Overlooking the fact I have never heard of you in my life, and I reiterate, I am familiar with all the known cultures of Thedas, from my time in the Grey Wardens if not my time as Grand Enchanter, if your rebellion succeeded and you became king, why are you here? With a child no less, and judging from the way she's holding your hand, I can only assume she is actually yours, isn't she?”

Maia had crept in closer to him, looking shyly up at Fiona, and Madanach put a protective arm around her. Fiona could interview him as she wished, and that was her right, but Maia was off-limits as far as he was concerned.

“I am still king,” Madanach growled. “But my wife is missing. We tracked her to somewhere near here but don't know exactly where she is now. And so I left my eldest daughter from my first marriage in charge and came here personally to find my Elisif. I have literally no leads whatsoever on where she might have gone… but I do know injustice when I see it, and I have no interest in supporting any regime that breaks up mage families and imprisons innocent mages… or worse. Given that our little girl is an accomplished mage already for her age, I have reason to believe my wife will also sympathise with your cause. I don't believe she's here already, mainly because if word had got round of a strange apostate in black leather with gold skulls and feathers with a little red-haired five year old in tow, not to mention these four, I do believe she'd have made an appearance. But give me your fighters, give Liriel and my daughter Eola here a place with your researchers, and we will turn the mage rebellion into more than you ever dreamed.”

“I'm also very good at killing things,” Eola added, grinning. Fiona raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. She did however look rather intrigued by Liriel, and this was going to be a problem, Madanach could tell. They'd honestly never anticipated a continent with no High Elves. But all the elves here were short and slender, with far more human-like features than mer back home, and none of them had yellow skin. Blackwall had suggested passing Liriel off as a female Tal-Vashoth, but honestly, Madanach wasn't convinced this was going to work.

“Your friend there. Liriel, is it?” Fiona said, pondering. “You said she was a researcher, so presumably a mage. With pointed ears but not resembling any elf I know of. I'd almost say you were one of the Qunari, or the Vashoth rather, but I don't believe their skin's that colour, and Liriel sounds like an elven name. And their mages don't tend to venture out of their communities, for obvious reasons, although it could be the Vashoth mercenary you've got with you is your kin… or your husband?”

“Absolutely not!” Liriel cried, horrified, and Borkul raised his eyebrows and snorted, looking a little offended.

“Didn't fancy you anyway,” Borkul muttered, although Madanach had a feeling that hadn't entirely been true.

“I'm a High Elf,” Liriel announced imperiously, apparently deciding cover stories were for the Aedra's lesser children. “I realise you've not met any before, but believe me when I tell you we're definitely elves and we're definitely mages. Aptitude and interest vary, of course, but a High Elf with no magic at all would be like someone born with only one hand. They could go on to live a happy and fulfilling life, to be sure, but it's not how it's _supposed_ to happen!”

Fiona's eyebrows shot up, and if she'd been sceptical of Madanach's claims, irrefutable evidence of a kind of elf never before seen in Thedas right in front of her was difficult to ignore. Especially when said elf was a mage from a land where magic use seemed as natural as breathing, and while the humans in the room all looked a bit uncomfortable, the elves all looked _fascinated_. Even Fiona looked surprised.

“You're not in favour of mages being imprisoned in Circles then,” Fiona said shrewdly, and Liriel shook her head.

“Clearly not, or my parents, brother, sister and I would all be in prison,” Liriel said tersely. “I have heard about these Circles, and despite the presence of books and research, a luxurious cage is still a cage.”

“So you at least don't brook any restrictions on your magic,” Fiona mused. “Interesting. I'm not even going to ask if any of you are Andrastian, I suspect I won't like the answer and anyway, it's hardly relevant. I'm trying to recall how many of us read the Chant of Light or venture into the Chantry and in all honesty, I have to admit most of us aren't just apostates because we won't live in Circles. I will ask though what you think of the commandment. That magic should serve humans, not rule over them.”

“I'm an _elf_ ,” Liriel said tartly. “But if you're talking responsible use of magic, I believe mages should endeavour to use their talents to better their communities and the world. Just as everyone else should.”

Madanach couldn't have put it better himself, and from the murmured approval going round the room, he guessed Liriel was winning some fans and admirers. He wasn't sure Fiona wasn't one of them,

“Well said,” Fiona murmured. “Very well, I think I can find you a place in our organisation, Liriel. We try to keep up our scholarship as best we can, I think a few of our enchanters will be very keen to speak with you. But as for Madanach here...”

Fiona stepped forward, folding her arms and looked at him rather suspiciously.

“Liriel's too unique to deny that your origins are… unexpected. But as for you, you seem an ordinary enough human to me. Were it not for the outlandish outfit that clearly took some skill to craft, and the small child that's fluent in a strange language, all I have is a nice story and unverified claims to competence as a rebel leader of sorts. So tell me, Madanach ap Caradach, you with a Fereldan name but an Avvar phraseology to it, claiming to be from this Kingdom of the Reach. What would you do, if you led this rebellion?”

It was a fair question. Madanach thought it over. Specifics were difficult to come up with without up to date information on the rebellion's current challenges. But he could suggest a few goals to be getting on with.

“You have a Veil falling apart, and demons pouring through,” Madanach said, pouring over what he did know. “There was a peace talk going to happen, but apparently it's gone wrong and you lost good people. I don't know the details, but I'm guessing nor do a lot of other people, and if there was any arcane component to what went wrong, I'm thinking people will be blaming you.”

He paused to see what Fiona was making of this. So far, so non-committal. Which meant he was on the right lines. 

“That means Templars will be attacking you before long, which means you need to be ready,” Madanach continued. “I heard they broke from the Chantry some time ago, which means likely it won't be organised at first… but if the Chantry gets its act together, you will be in trouble, because the Chantry, from what I hear, can unify entire nations.”

“A Divine can order an Exalted March, it's true,” Fiona said, stroking her chin. “But the Divine died too, as did the most obvious candidates to succeed her, or so I hear. It will be some time before the Chantry can elect a successor.”

Which was something of an unexpected relief on Madanach's part… and something he could work with, and he suspected Fiona knew it too.

“Good, buys us time,” Madanach said gruffly. “The world is falling apart. You want people to take you seriously and give you the rights other people take for granted. You know, being able to marry the one you love, raise your kids, live where you like, serve communities with your powers and be part of them, that sort of thing.”

“I know,” Fiona said softly. “Go on.”

“So we save the world,” Madanach said, feeling adrenaline pounding as he realised this had just turned into more than an exciting idea shared over drinks. This was turning into a serious plan, put before someone who could give him the resources to start this with. He wasn't entirely sure how to do this yet, of course, but give him time and information and he could do something. “We find out who destroyed the Conclave and broke the Veil, and we end them. And then, as saviours of the world, we name our price.”

Fiona tilted her head, clearly contemplating this. It was an expression he'd given other people on many many occasions. He'd probably shown it to Elisif when they'd first met too. That had been a gamble that had paid off. He wasn't so sure this one would, if Fiona took it. And he really didn't like being the one to beg.

“Your plan has some flaws,” Fiona said, folding her arms. “For a start, we would be better off naming our price before the world is saved, when we still have something to offer and people are afraid. And for that, we need allies. But your strategy is a good one. And the world does need saving. We would be unworthy citizens if we did nothing while the world burned. But as to how we do this… let me think on it. For now, it's enough to know I might just have an unexpected asset. You say you've organised military campaigns, yes?”

“Yes – why, do you have someone needing killing?” Madanach asked, already guessing who.

“Most of the Templars were recalled by the Lord Seeker in the wake of the Conclave,” Fiona told him. “But there's some remaining out in the hills, attacking anyone they think is a mage or mage-sympathiser. And we believe they're organising. I fear for Redcliffe if they attack the village. You think you can turn my mages into an army? Very well. Deal with the Templars. Find out where their headquarters is. Wipe them out and make the Hinterlands safer. I daresay you'll also run into some rogue mages considered too unruly even by our standards. I'll let you decide what to do with them.”

Madanach glanced over his shoulder at a grinning Borkul and an already cackling Cicero, before exchanging looks with Eola, who nodded at him.

“All right,” Madanach promised. “Give me your fighters, and I will turn them into a force to make Thedas tremble.”

Fiona stepped forward, actually seeming impressed. Slender elven fingers were extended his way, and Madanach took her hand.

“I look forward to seeing it,” Fiona said, and Madanach realised he'd passed the first test. Giving Maia a cuddle, Madanach retreated and stepped away, beckoning both Borkul and Blackwall towards him.

“All right, I'm going to need you two to help,” Madanach said quietly.

“Anything you want, boss, you know that,” Borkul said, always eager to crack some skulls. Not that Madanach needed him for that. Not yet.

“Help with what,” Blackwall said, guarded. “This isn't going to be something dishonourable, is it?”

“Depends, is corralling a bunch of cosseted magelings into line and getting them into shape dishonourable?” Madanach asked. “Come on, Blackwall, you've commanded troops before, right? Fancy playing drill sergeant to the mage rebellion?”

“I'm in,” Borkul said with no hesitation whatsoever. Blackwall briefly considered whether he'd enjoy making mages knuckle down and do push-ups.

Who was he kidding? Of course he would.

“Yes,” Blackwall grinned. “Let's get those enchanters wishing they'd stayed in the Circles, shall we?”

It was a risky thing to say to the one-time King in Rags, but by this point Madanach had warmed to him sufficiently to not worry about it. Madanach just patted him on the back and laughed. It was time to introduce Thedas to the concept of the spellsword and the nightblade. Thedas wasn't going to know what had hit it.

Nor, Madanach suspected, was the mage rebellion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore Bethany, so here she is, back in her native country, trying to protect the remaining Kirkwallers (that didn't run off to join the rebels earlier) (or the Loyalists) (or run off on their own). And of course Blackwall has an immediate crush. I won't lie, the odds are set against them, but who knows.
> 
> As for the Fereldan Hinterlands... things are about to get VERY interesting, as Elisif will find out when she visits.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition is getting organised, and with their Herald taking personal charge of the Hinterlands expansion, they're all set to start making an impact... that is, if the previously reclusive mage rebellion hadn't also started getting organised under their new military leader and made inroads of their own. With both factions treading on each other's toes, tensions are running high, but Fiona's never been unreasonable, and despite Madanach's protestations, starts reaching out to start negotiations...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short, but I liked this chapter so up it goes. The Hinterlands is a massive area in game, what with all those side quests etc, and wouldn't it have been easier if you'd had someone out there dealing with half the quests for you? Elisif certainly would if she'd known the full scale of the place. A few weeks have passed since last chapter and while the Inquisition is getting started, the mage rebellion is also kicking into gear what with its new military wing. We've now got the interesting challenge of Madanach and Elisif coming across each other's handiwork without realising what's going on. Fun times!

It had taken a few weeks to get a trip to the Hinterlands sorted out. Inquisition logistics worked slowly, and while Leliana's scouts could get out there and pave the way, having support troops in place for the Herald took rather longer. But done it they had, and now Elisif was in the Inquisition's first camp, getting a briefing off Scout Harding, who turned out to be a young dwarf archer.

“So, you're Scout Harding, right?” Varric had said, grinning as he greeted the young dwarf. “Ever been to Kirkwall?”

“Can't say I have,” Harding replied, clearly wondering where this was going. Varric chuckled, clearly dying to get the next bit out.

“Pity, because if you had, you'd be Harding in Hightown!”

Silence, in which Cassandra growled in exasperation, Elisif sighed after taking about two seconds longer than everyone else to get the joke, Solas didn't react at all, and Harding just looked vaguely uncomfortable.

“Ah, never mind,” Varric sighed, mentally writing that pun off as deservedly consigned to the Void. “Herald, over to you.”

Relieved, Elisif took over, smiling hopefully and approaching the scout for news.

“So, er, how's the Hinterlands?” Elisif asked hopefully. “It seems peaceful!”

“Yeah,” Harding said warily. “Too peaceful. Up until recently, we had rogue mages killing anything that moved, and rogue Templars doing likewise, and lots of refugees caught in the middle. And then it all… stopped.”

Elisif really didn't like the sound of this.

“What do you mean, it stopped?” Elisif asked. “Wars like the mage-templar one don't just stop! If they're really rogues, they'll just keep fighting until they kill each other.”

“Yeah,” Harding said, sounding very uneasy. “Except we've not seen any rogue Templars in days, and we've not seen any rogue mages in the last week and a half. It's quiet. Too quiet. I don't know where they've all gone, but it's… weird. We were hoping you could have a look round, see if you can find their bases, find out what happened. And there's something else. Something… odd.”

“Odder than two viciously opposed bands of thugs ripping each other apart and then stopping?” Elisif asked, dreading to think what this was.

“If you mean the previously reclusive rebel mages from Redcliffe stirring out of their base, then yeah,” Harding said, clearly unsure about what any of this meant. “And they don't look like Circle mages any more. Looks like they've killed half the rams in the area and turned their fleeces into what might be armour if you were some sort of hill barbarian. They've stuck the heads on spikes all the way up Redcliffe Road and the horns seem to have gone into their headgear. So far, all we've seen is the odd patrol, but they've mostly left us alone. They've visited the refugees at the crossroads too, but they didn't do anything violent. They just offered aid in return for information on Templar movements. Apparently Mother Giselle accepted the offer, and now the healer from Redcliffe visits with an escort of rebel mages every few days or so. They left some food and blankets too, and took a few of the refugees back to Redcliffe with them. I don't know what it all means, but they're calling themselves the MageGuard and just say the Enchanter-General's ordered them to pacify the region. They even found a way of sealing rifts somehow. Not getting rid of them, not entirely. But closing them so nothing can come through. They wouldn't say how they do it. All we know is it's something called the Mascot, and I couldn't find a single MageGuard who didn't get very annoyed when pressed on it. Whatever it is, the mages are willing to protect it with their lives. Somehow, I think our mysterious Enchanter-General might have something to do with it.”

“I thought the mage rebellion was led by Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Elisif said, hoping her information wasn't out of date already. Harding just shrugged. 

“It was. But the rebels lost leaders in the Conclave, same as the Templars did. Looks like someone new has risen through the ranks… and this is someone with military expertise. Not just that, it's someone who knows mountains. I don't know where the rebels found themselves an expert on arcane guerrilla warfare in the mountains, and I don't want to know, but they're organising. And no one knows why. They're turning Inquisition people away at Redcliffe at the moment. Don't seem to think we're worth talking to – either that or they think we're Chantry. They are not keen on the Chantry. And… Herald? I think a few of them aren't even Andrastian any more.”

“What do you mean, not Andrastian?” Elisif asked, starting to worry. Not that simply not being Andrastian bothered her, but round these parts, it seemed the only human non-Andrastians were either wilderness barbarians… or dangerous dark mages. Weird armour notwithstanding, Elisif felt it was more likely the latter.

“I don't know, but there's tales of some of them swearing by the old gods,” Harding said, shivering. “Or by names we've never heard of. They've got this big Tal-Vashoth mercenary heading up many of their raiding parties, and he is definitely no Andrastian, and there's stories of casual blood magic use abounding. They've got this Orlesian harlequin assassin working for them – he carves into an unwary opponent and then the MageGuard draw on the blood… er, you probably don't want to know the rest.”

Elisif really didn't, but at the same time, she couldn't help but be reminded of the Forsworn Rebellion. She recalled tales of that being a tactic of theirs too – hit hard, deal initial damage, and then their mages would start using the blood of the wounded in dark magical spells. Ulfric had told tales of this in the years when he'd still been a Jarl in good standing, boasting that it had been down to the power of his Thu'um that his men had survived – Unrelenting Force had broken the mages before they could start casting, and once the siege of Markarth had started, Ulfric had held his men out of range and waited for the defenders to tire before advancing under a shield wall. Madanach's guerrilla tactics had not been as well suited to siege war as they had striking without warning and leading an uprising.

Whoever was planning this fight-back had clearly learnt that lesson already and was taking the fight to the Templars before they could besiege Redcliffe. Not to mention assisting the refugees and winning a few friends there. The Enchanter-General was cunning. And something that could seal rifts, if not banish them, some weapon called the Mascot?

Did someone else have a mark like hers? Did someone in the mage rebellion know how it worked? Could someone get rid of it, maybe? Did they… but Elisif couldn't think about this. Not until she'd found out just what the MageGuard had done to the rogue Templars and mages (although honestly, Elisif had a feeling she knew what she'd find). Not to mention the refugees – and this Mother Giselle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They found her down near the crossroads, Inquisition troops already there, patrolling the area. It seemed peaceful. There were a few injuries but all in all, Elisif had seen far worse.

Mother Giselle was kneeling by the side of a man getting a nasty wound in his leg healed. It almost looked like it had been injured, then cauterised shut somehow. 

_I know that technique, the Reachmen use it to seal wounds shut and prevent infection, keeps someone alive long enough to get them to a proper healer or a Matriarch._ It was effective enough that even Nord soldiers now used it. Saved lives apparently, although the scarring and pain involved was best not thought about. Still, Nords were tough.

“Do not fear their magic,” Mother Giselle was saying. “It is no more evil than your blade.”

“Maker, no,” the patient moaned. “I saw those MageGuard in action, that sort of thing's just not right! There was nothing _left_ of that Templar!”

Mother Giselle clearly looked uneasy but nevertheless she persevered. 

“This mage is with the Inquisition,” she said gently. “He is – was – a Circle healer in good standing. The MageGuard are not here, but even they are not cruel to civilians, and they likely saved your leg.”

The patient shifted uneasily but did lie back, finally nodding.

“All right, Mother,” he whispered. “Just don't let that little one in the hat come back. He's not… he's not right.”

“I promise,” Mother Giselle said, smiling a little before seeing Elisif approach and getting to her feet, brushing dirt off her red, white and gold robes. Fine clothing, albeit a little grubby. Mother Giselle was clearly not afraid to rough it, despite being a woman in her middle years and a priestess at that.

“Greetings, child,” Mother Giselle said, with a soft burr and smooth, sibilant consonants that Elisif had come to recobgnise as Orlesian, although her brown skin spoke of ancestors from distant Rivain. “Are you the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste?”

“They do call me that, yes,” Elisif said, inclining her head. “You wanted to speak with me?”

“I heard you could close Rifts, is that true?” Giselle said, curious. Elisif confirmed it was, and Giselle actually smiled.

“That is good news,” Giselle said, seeming pleased to hear it. “I have heard many things about your Inquisition, and I know of your Sister Nightingale. If you truly are here to carry on with Justinia's legacy, that is all to the good.”

“It's hardly my Inquisition,” Elisif felt obliged to point out. Giselle merely smiled.

“Is that so? They have certainly been quick to claim you as their Herald, Thedas's only hope of closing the Breach and saving the world. I would like to believe it true… but you have enemies and also a rival. The mage rebellion are also making claims. They say they too can seal Rifts.”

Elisif had found one already – a rift near Fort Calenhad, somehow sealed. Elisif had had to re-open it and the demons burst out in an absolutely foul mood. But the rift had fallen in the end – not just sealed, but gone. This Mascot's powers were limited.

“So they say,” Elisif said calmly. “But I can banish them entirely. This Mascot of theirs may have power, but they're not my equal. All the same, I will welcome the aid of any of true heart who want to help in these troubled times.”

Giselle did seem a little sceptical about that.

“Opinion is divided on whether that applies to the MageGuard,” Giselle said, frowning. “But they have done us no harm and indeed helped us. You might find them more reasonable than you think. However, you must first persuade them you are not simply the Chantry's new military wing.”

“The Chantry think we're heretics!” Elisif protested. “The mages can't possibly think we're going to force them all back to the Circles!”

“They don't yet know what you intend,” Giselle said, motioning for Elisif to follow. “But they are not your problem. The clerics now, the word of the clerics could damn you.”

A chill ran down Elisif's spine. A Divine would be needed for an Exalted March but what might the remaining senior clerics do in the mean time? It might not be an organised army, but a mob was still to be feared.

“So what do you suggest?” Elisif said, worried. “Leliana said you could help.”

“Maybe,” Giselle said, brow furrowing. “Or maybe it is just that I would prefer Andraste's true Herald to lead the return to order, not the militant wing of the mage rebellion. Either way, I know those gathered in Val Royeaux. Some are grandstanding, hoping to make a name for themselves. Others are simply terrified.”

“I'm not _trying_ to frighten them!” Elisif sighed, resisting the urge to growl. They would certainly know it if she was _trying_. Seven years of being a leader, nearly, and while Elisif could deal with people one on one, strategy still wasn't exactly her strong point. Either sweetness and light or wanting to rip someone's head off, that was Elisif's trouble. She'd reined in her temper but all the same, this being patient and plotting thing, this really wasn't her. It was what she had Madanach for, or Delphine, or Eola, or even Cicero in his mad little way. She was a little out of her depth in dealing with the Chantry. Back home, priests stayed out of the politics if they wanted the temple donations to keep happening. Not here, apparently.

“I know,” Giselle said, amused. “Let me put it this way. You needn't convince them all. You only need a few to start to… doubt. Their strength lies in their united voice. Take that away and what do you have? Squabbling. Infighting. Discord. The faithful will not know who to listen to, and while the Chantry flounders, the Inquisition can act.”

“You want the Chantry to fail?” Elisif asked. She saw Mother Giselle's logic, of course she did… but wasn't she part of the Chantry too?

“Of course not,” Giselle replied, shrugging. “That is why I am helping to make sure it does not ruin itself for good by opposing the best hope for Thedas. Without a Divine to guide us, we are each left to our own conscience, and mine tells me this. Go to them. Speak with them, tell them who you are, what you intend. Show them you are no monster to be feared but just a woman, albeit one with passion and abilities. It would do no harm for the laity of Val Royeaux to see you either. I do believe even Orlais, jaded as she is, might be impressed.”

From what Leliana and Josephine had told her, this would take some doing. But who knew, the sight of an Avvar-ish barbarian warrior-queen might be different enough to spark attention among Orlais's cynical noble and merchant classes. 

She might hold off on breathing fire in front of them though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was hard not to feel a bit annoyed at the MageGuard. They'd killed about a dozen rams, and donated the meat to the refugees. They'd sent supplies along as well, from blankets and tents to healing herbs, and the healer from Redcliffe. Then Elisif had headed west to try to find the farms where the horsemaster was said to be living, through what had been a vicious war zone.

Not any more, it seemed. The place was quiet, previously burning buildings having been extinguished… and in a heap, the corpses of the previous fighters. Or some of them. Mostly, it seemed to be Templars, killed and charred to a crisp by magefire. Elisif hoped it was in that order anyway.

“Probably for the best,” Solas had said cheerfully. “We can't risk demons possessing the corpses, after all.”

Elisif whispered a quiet prayer to Arkay, while Cassandra recited a funerary blessing of the Chantry over the corpses. Varric meanwhile wasn't saying a word.

“You all right?” Elisif whispered, wondering how the dwarf was holding up. She knew he'd shot plenty of people while running around with his old friend Hawke in Kirkwall, but this was something else.

“Yeah,” Varric said quietly. “I mean, I'm used to mages and Templars killing each other. I'm not really used to someone descending with quite this level of efficiency and slaughtering them all.”

“Just be glad it wasn't us having to do it,” Elisif said, trying to cheer him up. Varric shivered.

“Yeah,” he said, looking away. “I mean, I've been in fights. Just not used to seeing the corpses all piled up like this.”

“Perhaps if you'd not run off and left someone else to clear up the mess, you might have got in fewer of them,” Cassandra snapped, getting up from her benedictions. “Come, I see footprints leading north, and our scouts mentioned a rift that way. We should investigate.”

So they did, and after closing a Fade rift and finding a few more charred Templar corpses, and a few dead sellswords too, and the odd hapless fox caught in the crossfire, they finally came across what had once been the base for the rogue mages.

Empty. And quiet. The place was deserted. All the equipment cleared out, all the mages gone. As if they'd all just packed up and left.

“The rogue mages wouldn't have just left, surely,” Elisif whispered. “Where do you think they went?”

“Why do I have a feeling the mage rebellion brought its apostates into line,” Varric murmured, looking around. Solas was doing likewise, pausing by the cave entrance.

“There are magical traces here,” Solas said, magic glowing at his hands. “And there's bloodstains too, on the ground here. But not enough for a large battle. I think it was a one on one fight, involving magic. Two mages battled… and one was a lot more powerful than the other, using magic I've never seen before.”

“Blood magic?” Cassandra asked, face grim. Solas shook his head then paused.

“No – well, yes, I think that might have been used. But there's traces of other magic too – it's like the fire magic I'm familiar with but used in a very different way. Look, see the charring on the ground here. Someone used fire magic so potent it reduced their opponent to little more than this. That's why there isn't more blood, the fire burnt it all. I think someone killed one of the rogues in a display of magic so impressive the others surrendered.”

“Someone killed their leader,” Elisif said, feeling nauseous. “Another mage did it in a duel, and recruited the remaining ones.” She'd ask who, but the answer was obvious. Fiona's new Enchanter-General had been busy and now he'd got a few more recruits.

“But on the other hand, I suppose the area's a bit safer now,” Varric said, surveying the scene. “I mean, Fiona's people haven't attacked the refugees, have they?”

“No,” Cassandra admitted. “But we don't know what they do intend.”

“Their stated intention seems to be to save the world and prove mages shouldn't be enslaved,” Solas said as they all made their way out. “Perhaps we should take that at face value.”

“For all we know, one of Fiona's people caused all this,” Cassandra grumbled, but she did not argue further as Elisif led them out.

Back to the road, and west, and it wasn't long before they started finding Templar corpses littering the roadside… then the blood trails on the grass… and then the Templar camp itself, with tents smouldering, scorchmarks searing the rock, corpses littering the ground, and blood everywhere. Cassandra was the first to notice that while magical fire had been used to cremate the bodies, that hadn't been how they died.

“That one was shot with arrows, this one had her throat cut, and that one was bludgeoned with a maul,” Cassandra noted. “If this was the rebel mages, they have skilled warriors with them.”

“Mother Giselle mentioned a Tal-Vashoth sellsword,” Solas said, eyeing one of the bludgeoned corpses. “I think this might be down to him.”

“But not on his own,” Varric said, looking around, and if the deserted mage base had been unnerving, this was something else. Some of the bodies had had the heads hacked off and placed on spikes, displayed so as to be nicely visible from the bridge crossing the river, and a few had heads missing entirely. Elisif had a feeling she knew what she'd see if she were to visit Redcliffe.

“What sort of barbarian feels the need to display their heads like that,” Cassandra said viciously. “It's enough to kill an enemy and cremate the corpse to prevent demon possession, you do not need to butcher the remains.”

“Trophy-taking,” Solas remarked, looking over one corpse, devoid of its head and with a spike driven right through the chest post-mortem. “I've heard the Avvar do something similar. They display the heads of particularly troublesome, or respected, foes. Part warning to others, part trophy, but also in some cases a way to honour a worthy adversary.”

A custom Nords had given up centuries ago, but the Empire would still display the heads of traitors on the Imperial City's walls, and as for the Reachmen, what they did with the corpses of their enemies was best not thought of. Elisif wondered which reason the rebel mages had had in mind… and why a group of mages who'd lived their lives in institutes of learning would take to combat and adopt the customs of barbarian tribes in the process. Were they getting their military knowledge out of books on the Avvar or something? Elisif wasn't sure, but surely books on Fereldan or Orlesian military strategy would be easier to find.

Then again, these were the hated Templars. There was something deeply personal about what was left of this camp. It really was like watching the aftermath of a Forsworn attack.

Elisif closed her eyes and walked away, suddenly missing home, missing Madanach, wanting her husband back, wanting comfort, wanting to actually feel revolted by all this instead of pleased the Templars would take no more mage babies like hers. Or at least with someone who made her feel better about being pleased.

_Madanach, look, the baby-stealing bastards are no more!_ She wanted to cuddle him, see the satisfied grin of her warlord battlemage husband at a job well done. Even with his mind going, she had a feeling he'd appreciate it on some level. But he wasn't here, the marriage bond was too overwhelmed by the Breach to give her anything useful, and she was alone, and the companions she did have probably didn't share her feelings.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” Elisif said roughly. “There's nothing left for us here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Report,” Madanach barked, barely looking up at whoever had just walked in. Too light of foot to be Borkul or Blackwall, not bouncing into the room and shouting either “Hello Reach-King!” or alternately “Daddy!”, and Eola always knocked. Probably a recruit then, and frankly they all needed some discipline drilling into them. 

“I do indeed have news but perhaps you could look up while I'm talking?” Fiona said, amused. “I do know people who can either listen to you or look at you but not both… but you're not one.”

Madanach promptly dropped his quill and got to his feet, apologising profusely. He wasn't afraid of Fiona, not really… but he'd heard plenty of stories, both matter-of-fact tales of facing down darkspawn in the Deep Roads from Fiona herself… and highly exaggerated ones from all the other mages, comprising improbable feats involving facing down hundreds of Templars by herself. Madanach recognised hero worship when he saw it, and he also recognised someone worthy of it. And so he'd listened when she talked, showed respect, and somewhere along the line they'd become friends… or something like it anyway.

“So you had news?” he said, producing a seat for her. He'd set up a war room in one of the upper bedchambers, the one he and Maia shared at night. Apart from having to keep Maia off the war table, and taking his documents off her constantly, it hadn't been working out too badly.

“Indeed I do,” Fiona said, idly tweaking one of the green flags that marked known rifts on his map of the Hinterlands… and then she uprooted it, snapping it in half, smiling at his squawk of outrage. “Don't get so worked up, Madanach. You won't be needing that one any more.”

“Why in the Void not?” Madanach yelped. “It marked a Fade Rift, Fiona, they don't disappear forever, we need patrols… Fiona?”

He'd seen that look in Keirine's eyes too often to argue with. It was that typical witch 'I know something you don't know' look that usually preceded some important announcement. Madanach had a feeling he wasn't going to like this one.

“That Rift has done just that – disappeared forever,” Fiona said, reaching out to the map again. “As have the one in Dwarfson's Pass, that one the cultists were guarding, the one on Redcliffe road, another in Witchwood, that one on Dennet's Farm – in fact the only ones that are left are those two in Hafter's Wood and that one in the gully.”

It would be the three most dangerous ones. Madanach growled and ripped the green flags off himself.

“Who,” Madanach snarled, annoyed beyond reason that his trump card had been shown up already. “Who the fuck else would even know where to start?? Not Loyalist mages, surely.” And no one else had the Thu'um, no one… except Elisif. 

Hope flared in Madanach's heart and he looked up, wondering what else Fiona had for him.

“No,” Fiona said, still smiling. “I took the liberty of sending people to talk to Dennet, find out who'd dealt with the rift on his land. Turns out it's the Inquisition. They've been expanding their presence. They've got the Breach-worshippers spreading the word of their blessed Herald, they've settled camps all over the region, they've rescued lost druffaloes, they've dealt with those wolves Elayna was complaining about, they've built watchtowers to protect people from bandits, they've even recruited some of the refugees, and Horsemaster Dennet's gone off to their base at Haven as well. And it's their Herald of Andraste who can banish those rifts.”

_Find me this bloody Herald and I will_ … Madanach got a grip of himself and directed his attention back to Fiona.

“So you're telling me all our efforts to look like heroes and saviours are being completely undermined by this… Inquisition?” Madanach said quietly, all the while seething and wondering which camp to have destroyed first. Fiona must have picked up on this because she was frowning at him.

“Madanach, it is not a competition to see who can save the world first,” Fiona scolded. “Any good we do is a help. They are not our enemies, and they needn't be rivals. We could help them.”

“What, with a Herald of Andraste mouthing the commandments of the Prophet herself at us? No thanks,” Madanach growled. Fiona rolled her eyes.

“Many in the rebellion are devout Andrastians, Madanach, despite Liriel's best efforts to convert half my elves to Auriel worship,” Fiona sighed. “We do not disagree that magic should serve humans, we only disagree about how that service looks. We will not gain by alienating the Chantry on principle. We need to look like the reasonable ones. Madanach. Stop scowling.”

“I'm not-” Madanach gave up and turned to listen. “Fine. What do you suggest.”

“I'm suggesting meeting with them,” Fiona replied, eyes narrowing as she saw the horror on Madanach's face. “And _I_ will be handling initial negotiations, not you.”

“What?!” Madanach cried, outraged. “Fiona!”

The Grand Enchanter was having none of it.

“Don't sulk, Madanach,” Fiona told him. “I'm not having you scowling and glowering while I try to persuade the Herald that we're not the monsters the Chantry would have people believe. I've discovered she's planning a visit to Val Royeaux to negotiate with the Chantry Mothers. I intend to go as well and observe, make contact if I can. And if I like what I see, I will invite them here. Where you can meet the Herald for yourself. If I'm not mistaken, you might actually like her. They tell me she's pretty.”

Madanach muttered something like “don't care” and “married”. Fiona just smiled, getting to her feet to take her leave.

“Am I to take it you're not going to object?” Fiona purred. Madanach sighed then shrugged.

“Realistically, can I stop you?” Madanach said, still sulking. “Fine, fine, bring the Herald here. I'll talk to her, at least. I suppose you're right, we do need allies. No point naming our price if we don't talk to the other side, is there?”

“I knew you'd agree,” Fiona purred. “I'll leave in the morning. Try not to destroy anything important while I'm gone?”

Madanach promised he'd behave and he showed Fiona out, watching as she made her way back to her own quarters. Then he closed the door behind him and strode outside to find Cicero.

He found him watching over the children, who were playing outside, gathering spindleweed and trying to feed it to Lord Woolsley, who strangely enough had managed to find his way to Redcliffe where his grateful owner had been overjoyed to see him again. The ram seemed a bit indifferent to their offerings but he was nibbling at it.

“Aren't they lovely, Reach-King?” Cicero said softly, perched on the steps of the Woolsley residence. “So sweet! So nice! So polite! Cicero wishes his own little ones were here. They would like Redcliffe.”

They probably would, although from what Eola had told him, the twins would not be feeding and petting Lord Woolsley, they would be more likely to be riding him, or trying to. Or wanting to swim in the docks. Or going climbing. Or running around talking at the tops of their voices for hours on end, starting at some inhumanly early hour. Madanach was near certain Eola did love her kids, but she'd been near ecstatic at being able to have lie-ins and not be woken up by children or have to clean up after them or tell them off or anything! Eola was definitely a true Reachwoman when it came to parenting. No sentimentality there. Cicero however was the exact opposite and he missed his children desperately. He'd nearly not come at all, but Eola had been almost as unhappy as Maia to see Madanach go, and what with her being a capable adult in her thirties, no one could rightly stop her coming. Only Cicero had wailed and pined at the thought of her going, and even more distraught at abandoning his children, as he saw it. In the end, it had been Athis's promise to take care of them personally, and Kaie saying they could stay in Markarth, it was no trouble, that had finally persuaded Cicero the children would be safe at least, but that his wife would be in mortal danger and he should probably go with her. All the same, he still missed his children.

“I'm sure they miss you too,” Madanach said, knowing when not to snap at his son-in-law. Taking a seat next to him, Madanach patted him on the back. “Maia likes having you around though.”

“She does, she does!” Cicero enthused. “Cicero likes Maia! Maia is a very sweet and loving child. Clearly she is very like her mother.”

Madanach resisted the urge to cuff him. He did, after all, have a job for him.

“Well, got something to take your mind off it,” Madanach said gruffly. “Fiona's opening negotiations with the Inquisition.”

That got Cicero's attention. He perked up immediately.

“Ooh! How exciting! When are they arriving? Cicero will need to brush his hair, make himself look presentable!” Then Cicero tilted his head, having heard many of Madanach's opinions about the Chantry by this point. “Or would you prefer Cicero to remain… out of sight?”

Madanach, despite Cicero being trying in the extreme on occasion, was deep down rather fond of his son-in-law, and didn't hide his pleasure this time.

“Something like that,” Madanach grinned. “Need you to do a little sneaking for me. The Inquisition has this prophet, the Herald of Andraste. Apparently she's going to Val Royeaux to meet the Chantry Mothers. Fiona's going to investigate and maybe make contact. She wants to win the Herald over.”

“But you are not so sure,” Cicero purred. “You would rather the Inquisition fell apart?”

“I'll settle for them agreeing mages should be free,” Madanach said. “In the meantime, I'd like you to go too. Accompany Fiona to Val Royeaux, stay out of sight for the meeting, see if you can get sight of the Blessed Herald, Our Lady of the Sealed Rifts. I want to know about her. Is she a Chantry loyalist? Or is she someone we can reason with?”

Cicero blinked, smile having faded, in fact he was looking a bit nervous.

“Err… Madanach? Sir? Is this wise? Not the mission part, Cicero certainly understands the need… but sending humble Cicero? Madanach, Cicero stabs people, he doesn't make _decisions_. Is Eola going?”

Madanach hated doing this, but he had to admit the answer was no. Cicero's face fell, a man lost and appalled on hearing he'd be out there alone, shorn of Eola's support.

“She's got that running experiment on those darkspawn blood and flesh samples going on, you know that!” Madanach sighed. “Also if we need to take Maia out to seal a Rift, I need her to go if I can't. I don't like being the only family member Maia has in a strange place where I don't have my own court around me. Come on, Cicero, I'm not expecting you to handle negotiations. I just want you to listen, gain an impression and report back to me. You're better at reading people and situations than anyone gives you credit for!”

Cicero raised an eyebrow, and then he grinned.

“Oooh. Ooooh! Cicero understands! You do not _like_ the Inquisition, do you? You have heard the news they can banish Rifts permanently and you are insulted on behalf of Maia. Did you want Cicero to… take care of matters?”

“No!” Madanach said, not entirely convincingly. “I mean… no. Look, if we're going to look like heroes, we're going to need to be able to work with others sharing our aims. But not if it means surrendering everything we believe in. I need to make sure Fiona's not the only source of information I have on this Herald before I agree to sit down at a table with her. Well? Can you help?”

Cicero promptly beamed. Of course he could! Leaving Cicero to break the news to Eola, Madanach went off to tell Fiona she'd be having company. Besides, everyone had been telling him Orlais was this cultured, powerful, wealthy empire that ran half the continent. About time someone in his party saw that for themselves, and when it came to cultured and wealthy imperial cities, Madanach couldn't think of anyone better to send than the man born in the Imperial City itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Val Royeaux! In which Elisif impresses, the Templars do not, Fiona makes contact and Cicero's terrible attention span throws a spanner in the works.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elisif goes to Val Royeaux to negotiate with the Chantry, but nothing goes according to plan. However, that doesn't mean disaster for the Inquisition, as opportunities come the Herald's way... but one missed opportunity could have consequences, thanks to a certain someone getting... distracted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one follows the game fairly closely, but I did deviate a little. In particular, Cicero managed to throw a spanner in the works, as per usual, seriously, never write this guy, he will just take your plot and run off cackling with it, ripping it into tiny little pieces and throwing them in the air as he does so. Sigh. I'm surprised Fiona hasn't kicked him into the Deep Roads and left him there yet...

Elisif couldn't stop staring. She must look like the most uncultured yokel ever, but she couldn't help it. This city was _amazing_. Gold towers and rooftops gleaming in the sunshine, all white and blue walls, banners fluttering, everything carved with a love of beauty and artistry, from the gilded lions to the Andrastian statues, and the people! All decked out in fine silks and velvets, all with their masks, each one apparently indicating a noble house and that person's rank in it, or alternately certain professions would have their own set of masks as approved by their guild. Even the guards wore bright, fashionable colours with masked helmets made to resemble a human face.

“This is Val Royeaux?” she whispered. “Gods, look at it! It's beautiful!”

“Only on the outside, Blue-eyes,” Varric said, eyeing one woman in particular, a young noble who'd been walking past, seen them, and promptly staggered back, crying out and hiding behind an ornate ivory fan. “Seeker, I think they know who we are.”

“We've made no secret of our purpose,” Cassandra sniffed, stepping forward to greet the Inquisition agent emerging to meet them. “Let them observe if they will. Agent! Report!”

“Lady Seeker,” the agent gasped. “The Chantry Mothers are gathered to meet you, as expected.”

“And?” Cassandra asked, clearly sensing a 'but' on the way. She wasn't wrong.

“Along with a great many Templars,” the young agent said, wringing her hands. “Lord Seeker Lucius has brought them out of the White Spire to see this.”

That had a way of bringing Elisif back to reality.

“Templars? Here? But I thought they left the Chantry!” Elisif gasped, hoping Cassandra could help somehow. But even the four of them together, Cassandra, Varric, Solas and her, couldn't fight an entire company of Templars, and Elisif didn't have Odahviing to help.

“Maybe they have come to their senses,” Cassandra said, but she didn't sound entirely convinced. “It could be the Lord Seeker has decided the current crisis is more important than hunting apostates. He was a moderate once. Before all this.”

Even moderates could do stupid things. Elisif steeled herself and made her way into Val Royeaux marketplace. Time to see what could be done.

Not a lot, it seemed. There was an entire group of citizens all gathered to hear what the Chantry priestesses had to say, and their leader was certainly saying it. She started saying it even louder as she saw Elisif weave through the crowd. The Jagged Crown was noticeable enough as it was and these Orlesians were so short! Well, all right, human Orlesians probably were around the same sort of height as the average Imperial or Breton back home. But Elisif really wasn't used to having quite so many of them this close to her. Even the Reachmen didn't crowd her like this. 

“We gather this day to mourn our beloved Divine Justinia, her naive and beautiful heart, silenced by treachery!” the Revered Mother at their head cried.

“Revered Mother Hevara,” Cassandra murmured. “She was one of the louder voices calling for your head. She could be a candidate for Divine now so many have perished.”

Painting the previous Divine as naive for believing in a chance for peace would certainly count as angling for the job oneself. Elisif made her way forward, the crowd instinctively parting for the heavily armed warrior that towered over them all… or seemed to in the dragon tooth helmet anyway. Hevara saw her coming and her voice grew harsher, anger at the false Herald clear for all to see.

“And do you wonder who is responsible?” Hevara cried. “Do you wonder who broke the sky, slaughtered the faithful where they stood, murdered our beloved Divine? Well, look no further! There she is, Most Holy's murderer, daring to show her face in the heart of Andrastianism, claiming to rise where our beloved fell! The so-called Herald of Andraste!”

“I was given that title, I never claimed it,” Elisif called back, itching to just Shout her down and be done with it… but something told her essentially hitting a priestess was a bad idea. Also Hevara might be unpleasant but she wasn't a warrior. Combat was not the answer. Unfortunately.

“But you do not deny it,” Hevara snapped, arms on her hips. Elisif glanced at Cassandra, who stepped forward to speak.

“We are not here to argue over who said what!” Cassandra snapped. “We are here to address a real threat looming over us all! The sky is torn, the world threatened by demons. Lady Elisif is the only one who has so far demonstrated any ability to affect the Rifts at all.”

“I heard the mage rebellion can close them!” an anonymous voice from the crowd called out. Elisif gritted her teeth, really wanting to back the rebel mages but honestly, they weren't making it easy. And for tales of the Mascot to have reached Val Royeaux already… not good.

“The rebel mages only have the power to close Rifts,” Elisif said tersely. “I can banish them entirely. If the mages want to help though, I'll gladly speak with them.”

An audible gasp through the crowds, Hevara's eyes widening, and Elisif realised that might just be the wrong thing to have said. 

“You would work with maleficarum and apostates?” Hevara cried. “For all we know, they caused the Breach in the sky!”

Elisif hadn't survived as High Queen by being an idiot and she seized on the opening.

“Oh, so you admit you have no idea who blew up the Conclave then?” Elisif replied, trying not to smile too hard. “Was it the rebel mages or me, make your mind up!”

Murmuring in the crowd, and Elisif noticed Cassandra trying not to smile and Varric not even trying, just murmuring 'well done!' Even Solas looked impressed.

Hevara's lips curled as she glared at Elisif, and then the sound of marching boots brought a smile back to her face.

“It matters not,” Hevara gloated. “Behold, the Templars have returned to the Chantry! Whether it was you or the mages, we and our Templar brothers will find out who is responsible and restore order, by the sword if necessary! Behold the return of Lord Seeker Lucius!”

The Templars were already mounting the stage, but Elisif saw the look in Lucius's eyes, saw the sneer on his face, the way his eyes glided past Hevara, saw him sweep past without sparing her a second glance… and then the entire bazaar gasped as one of the Templars punched Hevara square in the jaw. She went down without a sound, two Chantry sisters running to her, and even one of the Templars, a brown-skinned knight who looked appalled at actually hitting a Revered Mother, made to intervene. Until Lord Seeker Lucius stopped him.

“Still yourself. She is beneath us.”

Coldness in Lucius's eyes as he surveyed them all, eyes falling on her in particular, and Elisif realised this man had not a shred of humanity left. A moderate?? Not any more, and if he was a moderate, Elisif didn't want to meet the extremists.

“They are all beneath us!” Lucius was continuing, voice harsh and angry as those cold eyes raked the gathered crowd. “What have the Templars to gain by serving at the beck and call of old women who can't even protect themselves?”

“You're holy warriors!” Elisif cried, unable to stop herself. “You're meant to fight evil and protect the common folk, not hit old women and leave the weak to fend for themselves!”

“Enough,” Lucius snapped, gaze falling on her. “I came because I heard the Inquisition would be here and I wished to see this Herald of Andraste for myself. I am not impressed.”

Kill him. Draw your sword, take his head from his shoulders, show him what you are truly made of!

Elisif flexed her fingers on Dawnbreaker's hilt but did not react. She knew her dragon self well by this point, well enough not to blindly give in and so she just stepped forward.

“Then that makes two of us,” Elisif sniffed, and any desire she might have had to even consider approaching the Templars for aid died there and then. The Lord Seeker barely even reacted, and then Cassandra was there, all outraged fury.

“Lord Seeker, what is the meaning of this?” Cassandra cried. “You come to Val Royeaux and humiliate the Chantry – for what? This is not the Order I remember! Our purpose is to serve the Maker, not seek power for our own purposes!”

“Sir, she's right, this isn't...” the brown-skinned knight behind him began, but Lucius angrily glared at him, silencing him. Then he turned his attention back to Elisif and Cassandra.

“You stand before me and lecture me, Cassandra?” Lucius said, voice dripping with scorn. “You, with your puppet Herald, dare to tell me how to lead? Our purpose is to destroy the apostates and restore order, and we will not be restrained by old women, washed-up ex-Seekers and a barbarian playing at politics! I came to see the Inquisition, and I have seen. You are offering me nothing… and the Inquisition, less than nothing. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine!”

Elisif was this close to just drawing blades on him. Did the Templars' famed magic-dampening power work on the Thu'um, she wondered. They were not far off finding out.

“Templars, we move!” Lucius ordered, leading his people out. “Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection.”

Silence as the Templars marched out, but frantic whispering had broken out, and Elisif could sense panic building. Any minute now all Oblivion could break loose (possibly literally if a Rift formed) and Elisif had a feeling she'd be blamed. Mother Hevara was still lying on her podium, conscious but hurt, and no longer remotely in control of the situation. No one was, that was the frightening thing. 

And yet, Elisif didn't sense anger. Just terror and worry and confusion. There was a possibility here. No one was in charge, everyone was terrified… Elisif could work with this. Taking a deep breath, she walked up to the podium.

“Val Royeaux!” she cried, pleased to know she could still project her voice when she needed to. People were turning to stare at her, expressions ranging from fearful to downright hostile, but most just looked confused. Behind her, Elisif could hear Hevara coughing and trying to sit up, trying to work out what was going on. Elisif wasn't sure herself.

“Citizens of Val Royeaux,” Elisif called, wondering what to say to a terrified populace that had just been abandoned by the Templars they were hoping would save them. Well, that was easy. Promise them hope. It was all you could do.

“Lord Seeker Lucius thinks you're unworthy of protection!” she cried. “Well, I think he's unworthy of a leadership role! I admit I don't know Val Royeaux well enough to argue his point, but I do know that this city is full of innocent people, men, women, children even, and that they don't deserve to have the Veil rip open and demons murder them all!”

Silence, but she had their attention. They still looked scared but they were listening. Elisif smiled and continued.

“And so I say to you, if the Templars won't do their job, then I will. The Inquisition formed to restore order, bring peace, fix the sky and find Divine Justinia's murderers, and that's what we intend to do!” Elisif cried. “Whether Andraste sent me or not, I'm here now, and I can help! So… so I will. If you help me. If any of you are willing, if any of you are able, be it in coin, contacts, wielding a sword, anything, come find us at Haven. Come join us, and we will set the world to rights! We are the Inquisition and we will work with anyone who shares our values and can help, be they Chantry priests, farmhands, nobles or the mage rebellion! If you are of true and noble heart, join us! And know this, I will not let this land fall apart. If I can prevent the death of one innocent, then I will. For Thedas and the memory of Divine Justinia!”

Elisif just about managed to avoid punching the air at the end, at the point where her fellow Nords would have roared in support and started preparing to march. The people of Val Royeaux did not, but they were all watching intently… and then applause started at the back, and while it didn't lead to raucous cheers, it did spread, and Elisif could see a good many of them whispering, considerable excitement in the air. 

She couldn't call it a resounding triumph, but polite applause was better than nothing, and if they weren't her supporters yet, they were definitely interested. The Inquisition might get a few recruits yet.

She turned from the dispersing crowd and went to see how Hevara was doing. Not well – bruising was already starting to appear around her eyes and there was blood trickling down her cheek from where that Templar's gauntlet had cut her.

“Are you all right?” Elisif asked, kneeling by her side. Hevara shook her head, but from the defeat in her eyes, Elisif guessed it had been the shame of losing that hurt most.

“Of course not,” Hevara said bitterly. “Shown up in public by our own Templars! Are you happy now, Herald? Is this what you wanted?”

“No, of course not!” Elisif protested. “I'm not… look, I'm not your enemy! I don't need to be, anyway. I'm trying to save the world, not destroy it.”

“I fear you already have,” Hevara sighed. “In truth, I don't know if you are truly Andraste's Chosen or not. For you to be true, a great many things must be false. And if you are false… a great many things must have failed.”

Elisif couldn't even begin to fathom what they might be, but there was one question she wanted an answer to, although she had a feeling the Templars deserting the Chantry for good might trump the answer now.

“So are the Chantry going to keep inflaming the masses against the Inquisition?” Elisif asked. Hevara looked away, laughing bitterly.

“Have we not tried?” Hevara gasped. “And look where it has got us. No Templars. No Divine. And when you arrive in person and speak for yourself, you start winning hearts already. Anything we did to you now would just make us look like villains. So go, Herald Elisif. Go and do whatever you're here for. Save the world. If you succeed then maybe you are what you seem. If you fail, it will no longer matter.”

Elisif could agree with that, at least. So she took her leave and started to make her way out of Val Royeaux. All of which took longer than she thought. Cassandra and Varric did their best to clear a path, but she must have had half a dozen people wanting to know if she could really seal rifts and could they help? Elisif had listened, said yes, and told them to contact Haven, as well as taking names down for passing on to Leliana and Josephine. And last to stop them was a young brown-skinned man in what Elisif was coming to realise were mage robes. 

“Your Worship?” he said nervously. “I mean, Lady Herald. I have this for you. It's an invitation from Madame De Fer, to a salon she's hosting. She'd love to meet you.”

Elisif took the invitation off him, reading with interest.

“Madame De Fer?” Elisif asked, frowning. “Who is she?” The invitation was from a Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard Circle and Enchanter to the Imperial Court. 

“Vivienne De Fer,” Cassandra sighed, already looking weary. “Noted mage and courtier, and now the leader of the Loyalist mages. Such as they are. She leads the last functioning Circle in Orlais although without much in the way of Templars and no way of forcing apostates to join it, it's not the institution it was. Still, she's in possession of a great deal of influence. I can guess why she might be interested in the Inquisition. She's seeking a powerful protector to hang on the coat-tails of, no doubt. She never changes.”

Elisif got the feeling Cassandra really didn't like Vivienne very much, and she could see Solas smirking as well. All the same, it might be worth meeting her. Someone called Court Enchanter might be useful.

And then the arrow thudded into the ground not three feet away, causing two nearby nobles and a street performer to shriek and run back.

“What was that?” Cassandra gasped, looking around in vain for the archer. Varric waved her away, going to pick the arrow up. 

“Don't bother, Seeker, it's got a letter attached to it. Whoever fired wants our attention, not to hurt anyone. Hmm, this is… Blue-eyes, take a look.”

Elisif scanned the letter, raising an eyebrow at the penmanship. The handwriting was better than Maia's… barely.

“Dear Herald of Andraste,

People are saying you're special. I want to help, and I can bring everyone.

There's a baddie in Val Royeaux. I hear he wants to hurt you. Look for the red things in the market and the docks and maybe you'll find him first.

The Friends of Red Jenny”

“Friends of Red Jenny, eh?” Varric murmured. “I've heard of them. Some sort of secret network of… I don't know if thieves is the right word. They play jokes and pranks on nobles who mistreat their servants. Or so they say. I've never really got involved with them myself, all I knew was what I'd heard in the Hanged Man. Well, until now.”

And now they were taking an interest in her. Volunteering their services anyway. Did they know she was a queen back home? Of course not, no one outside the Inquisition's inner circle even knew Tamriel existed. Everyone had been told she was an Avvar warrior, and that was how they'd all agreed it should stay. It seemed they genuinely wanted to help.

“All right then,” Elisif said, looking around. “Let's track down some red things.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Nothing. Nothing at all. Only a brief flash out of the corner of her eye and then gone. No red whatsoever, in fact a despairing question to the waiter in the cafe revealed the colour was presently deeply unfashionable and no right-minded Orlesian would be seen dead in it. 

Elisif's hand instinctively went to her hair, and the waiter looked sympathetic and suggested a very good hairdresser in the Rue de l'Emprise that could dye it for her. Elisif had almost caved and gone to make an appointment before Cassandra had intervened and tersely said they were not here to adopt every passing Orlesian trend, and red would likely be in again in six months time anyway. That was when Elisif pulled herself together, remembered she was a damn queen and vowed that by the time she was done, every noble in Orlais would be dyeing their own hair red in her honour.

“You tell 'em, Blue-eyes,” Varric said as they headed for the gates.

“There are worse ambitions,” Solas said thoughtfully. “Just don't expect it to last. The only constant in Orlais is that things are always changing.”

“And not always for the better,” Cassandra said, glowering. “Come, let us return to Haven. I never liked politics at the best of times.”

“And yet you helped the Divine,” Elisif said, curious as to why Cassandra had stayed so long in a city she'd hated.

“Because it was the right thing to do,” Cassandra said, unsmiling. “That did not mean I enjoyed the constant displays of frivolity and the petty infighting.”

Elisif smiled, patting Cassandra on the back. “Me neither,” she said fervently. “I hated politics too. Although at least back home, we don't have to put up with the masks.”

“Thank the Maker for small mercies, hmm?” Cassandra said, actually smiling, and Elisif couldn't help but laugh. They passed under the gate towards the bridge leading out… and it was then that a voice called them back – the voice of an Orlesian woman.

“Herald? If I might have a moment of your time?”

Elisif turned to see an elven woman with dark hair and clear pale skin step out of the shadows… and she was clad in Circle mage robes. Now why was a Circle mage stopping her? She already had an invitation to Vivienne's salon, was there any reason for a Loyalist mage to want to speak with her… oh. Of course not. This was no Loyalist, was it?

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Cassandra said, eyes narrowing. “Shouldn't you be with your people in Redcliffe?”

“I heard the fabled Herald of Andraste was coming to Val Royeaux and decided to see her for myself,” Fiona said, stepping out into better light and appraising Elisif carefully, seeming to like what she saw. “And for the record, I did not come alone. Just because you can't see my companions, does not mean they're not there.”

Whether she meant concealed mages, concealed assassins or spirit guardians, Elisif wasn't sure and didn't like to ask. So she focused on the Grand Enchanter herself. The leader of the mage rebellion, so curious she'd come all this way in person. Well, hadn't Elisif wanted an audience? She'd just hoped she'd have had more time to prepare. But she could at least start negotiations.

“I don't mean the mage rebellion any harm, Grand Enchanter,” Elisif said, inclining her head. “Indeed, after that little display by the Templars, I think you might be the reasonable ones.”

Fiona's eyes flashed with merriment and her smile was one of surprised delight. 

“I'm glad to hear it, Your Worship,” Fiona laughed. “Tell me, your speech back in the marketplace. Did you mean it when you said you'd consider working with us if we helped you seal the Breach?”

“I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it,” Elisif said, warming to her. “Are you offering to help us?”

Fiona laughed, shaking her head. “I'm offering nothing yet. But I'm willing to negotiate. My people don't trust outsiders, and many think the Inquisition just another arm of the Chantry. My Enchanter-General included. But he's indicated he's willing to listen to reason. Meet with us and prove you're better than the Templars, and we might just be willing to lend you our magic.”

“We need to prove no such thing,” Cassandra snapped, bristling a little at the slight against her former colleagues. “For all we know, your people were involved in the explosion at the Conclave!”

Fiona sighed, eyes flicking to the heavens as she appeared to inwardly pray for strength.

“I lost good friends and colleagues to that disaster,” Fiona said, brow crinkling. “The only reason I wasn't there myself was because I suspected someone might try something. I didn't know how right I'd be. But we weren't behind it. Lord Seeker Lucius wasn't there in person either – we both sent negotiators in our stead. And yet look at him. He hardly seems broken up over his losses, if he's concerned about them at all.”

Cassandra was still glaring, but Elisif placed a hand on her shoulder to hold her back.

“Let me handle this,” Elisif said softly, before turning back to Fiona.

“I believe you,” Elisif told her, knowing in her heart Fiona wasn't responsible, and that even if the explosion had been orchestrated by rogue elements in the rebellion, Fiona hadn't been aware of it. “What about you, you don't think we did it either? Or do you think it was the Templars?”

Fiona actually laughed at that, eyes twinkling with delight.

“No, Elisif, I don't think the Inquisition did it, and I certainly don't think you did,” Fiona grinned. “Far more likely it was someone on the Templar side – if they'll condone hitting a Chantry Mother, it's not a much bigger step to murdering a Divine.”

Useful to know, but that wasn't what had grabbed Elisif's attention. The Grand Enchanter had used her name.

“How did you know my name?” Elisif whispered, expression hardening. Fiona's eyes lit up at that.

“It is you!” Fiona gasped, amazed. “I wondered… Elisif, my dear, let's just say my people have been telling me stories of your exploits. If even half of it is true, then we might just be able to win this. I look forward to working with you.”

“But I haven't agreed to anything yet!” Elisif cried, beginning to wonder if Cassandra's distrust might have been justified after all. Fiona just smiled, still playing her cards close to her chest, and while Fiona might be an outsider in Orlais, by being both mage, elf and ex-Warden, she was still Orlesian, and no Orlesian ever revealed their hand until they were sure of victory.

“Not yet, no,” Fiona said. “But I have something that might just sway you. Something you have… misplaced. Something valuable, too valuable to just send to Haven. But if you come to Redcliffe, I will hand it over with no strings attached. That I promise. I'll see you in Redcliffe, Elisif.”

“Wait!” Elisif cried, but Fiona was already retreating back into the shadows, the conversation clearly done, and Cassandra was leading her away.

“Come,” Cassandra said tersely. “She won't tell us anything more here, that's for certain. You will need to go Redcliffe for that… if you trust her. She knows an alarming amount about you.”

“Indeed,” Solas said thoughtfully. “I wonder what valuable item of yours she could possibly have. You haven't lost anything you brought with you from Tamriel, have you?”

Elisif shook her head, completely confused by now, and quietly seething at Fiona for knowing just what buttons to press to get her interested, and just what had she been hearing anyway?? Who was her informant, and stories? What stories? She'd only done a few things worth the telling in Thedas… and then there was Fiona's delighted exclamation of 'it is you!' But Fiona knew she was the Herald, it was Elisif whose identity she'd not been sure of. Who on Nirn had been telling her tales of Elisif rather than the Herald?

Elisif didn't know but something in her told her that somehow, just somehow, someone from her old life had managed to find her. Someone who'd decided to sign up with the mage rebellion… no. No no no, surely not!

She wasn't going to think about it. Or talk about or let herself believe it, or think too long about the fact that away from the Breach, the empathy bond was working better, and that Madanach didn't feel underground and far away any more, he felt south and east.

You insane, crazy, brilliant… she healed him! Elisif felt tears prickling at her eyes and an intense desire to run to her husband and hold him and never let go. But she refused to indulge it. Not until or unless she saw him again. Not until then.

Taking one breath at a time and trying to get her emotions back under control again, Elisif strode out of Val Royeaux, wanting this glittering masked city of trickery well and truly behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Fiona watched them go from the shadows, waiting patiently for Cicero to show himself. That he'd not shown himself when Fiona had named Elisif, or even sooner, was a bit of a worry. He was Madanach's son-in-law, he'd got himself arrested to rescue Elisif from the prison she'd met Madanach in, been the one to save her from the assassins hired to kill her. Cicero would know her, recognise her, and she'd know him. If he'd shown himself… but he hadn't, and now Fiona was a bit concerned.

Then the little fool emerged, hat askew and clutching no less than three red handkerchiefs.

“Hello!” Cicero said breathlessly. “Cicero saw this shifty looking elf plant these all around the marketplace, so Cicero followed and retrieved them! Cicero heard there was some excitement in the main plaza, was it so?”

Cicero definitely wasn't Orlesian, in fact his accent actually sounded a bit Tevinter, although his skin colouring looked like some Fereldan blood had got in there somehow. But Fiona couldn't help but notice how some of his turns of phrase sounded very Orlesian, from the grammatical phrasing to the words themselves. He'd already expressed a desire for a jester mask, and had devoured anything and everything regarding Harlequin assassins and indeed the Game. Somebody was definitely a distant kinsman of Orlais somewhere along the line. Fiona wasn't sure how she felt about that. But she was definitely sure how she felt that the little idiot's attention span meant he'd managed to miss the entirety of Elisif's visit.

“You foolish man,” Fiona said quietly, dangerously. “Do you mean to tell me you never even saw the Herald??”

Cicero went a bit quiet, before slowly shaking his head.

“Um. No. Er. You will not tell Madanach this, will you? I'm sure she was very nice?”

Growling, Fiona turned him around and pointed him at Elisif's by now distant form… but her shield was still just about visible, as was the glow from her sword, and that helmet with the dragon teeth in it was recognisable anywhere, as was the red hair spilling out from under it. And Cicero knew her well enough to realise his error.

“Pretty Elisif!” he squealed, trying to run after her, but she'd already passed the gates by this point. Cicero's face fell as he realised he'd missed his chance.

“But I could have spoken to her,” he whispered. “She must be lonely! All alone in a strange country with no one from home around. We must go after her, we must!”

“And we shall,” Fiona promised, reaching for his arm to stop him running after her. “But in good time, Cicero. And honestly, this is rather your fault for wandering off?”

Cicero laughed nervously before turning to face her.

“Well, at least this means Cicero will have good news for dear Madanach? Is she coming to Redcliffe? Did you tell her we had…?”

Fiona placed a finger to Cicero's lips, quietly shaking her head.

“Walls have ears, especially here,” Fiona said softly. “I will not speak of it openly. But I told her enough to whet her appetite. She will come to us, of that I am sure. But just in case, we can tell the Enchanter-General what we found. Then he can send her a message, can't he? I'm sure a personal letter from him would bring her, don't you think? Maybe you can deliver it… if you don't get distracted on the way, hmm?”

Cicero promised he wouldn't, he wouldn't, he would do exactly as bid and not get distracted, he promised, he did!

“Good, I hope so,” Fiona said, expression softening a bit. “Now, what did you find, exactly? I do hope it was useful.”

Cicero swore it was, it was, it was a plot against the Herald, look! It turned out to be a key and three bits of paper of varying penmanship revealing the place and time of a meeting of anti-Herald conspirators. All of it appeared to be written by people wanting that plot revealed. Interesting. Very interesting. And one letter mentioned the Friends, and then there was the red handkerchiefs. So the Friends of Red Jenny were real. How very interesting indeed. 

“Well now,” Fiona murmured. “Elisif has friends in unexpected places. Fascinating. Friends she doesn't know about yet. I have a feeling she was supposed to find these, not you. But nevertheless, you're a friend of hers too, aren't you, Cicero?”

Cicero nodded fervently, swearing he was, he was, loyal Cicero was a good boy! Fiona decided he wasn't wrong about that, at least. He was a highly trained assassin, so Fiona had heard. She could make use of that.

“In that case, you can look into this,” Fiona told him, handing everything back over. “The meeting's tonight in Val Royeaux. Get yourself to it and neutralise them. Kill them, disrupt things, I don't care. Even if you can't kill them, you might learn something of use. Then meet me back at Redcliffe. Or if you prefer, go straight to Haven and share your information with Elisif. I daresay she'd appreciate it.”

Cicero promised he would, he would! So off he scampered and Fiona prepared to head back to Redcliffe, shaking her head. In some ways, a deadly professional. In others, an unpredictable, unreliable child. Fiona sincerely hoped Madanach hadn't overestimated Cicero, but with any luck he'd prove himself on this one. Or he'd get killed, thus ridding her of a liability. Either way, she benefited, although she hoped Eola wouldn't blame her if he died. She suspected however that Cicero was one of life's born survivors. In this at least, she was quite correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing a double-upload as these two chapters are quite short, so next one will be: Cicero meeting Sera! (I have had so much fun writing those two, you would not believe...) Elisif recruiting Vivienne! (it remains to be seen who will regret this more...) And Fiona breaking the happy news to Madanach that she's found his wife (Maia is present. It's cute).


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New allies abound, as Elisif mingles with Orlesian nobility... and unknown to her, Cicero is making friends at the other end of the social spectrum, as only Cicero can. Meanwhile Fiona's taken the arcane shortcut back to Redcliffe, with exciting news for Madanach and Maia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of little things going on here, as the action swings from the alleys of Val Royeaux to the glittering Ghislain estate and finally back to Redcliffe, as the plot thickens. But it was a fun one to write. Cicero remains a terrifying little thug and Maia remains a little sweetheart and Elisif may regret this decision.

Night time over the back streets of Val Royeaux, and Sera waited, arrow nocked to her bow. Someone had found all her little hints, hopefully the right someone. Hopefully a glowing Herald of Andraste.

She hoped the Herald showed up soon. She was getting bored, and her arrow finger getting twitchy and it was only a matter of time before she ended up shooting this arsehole herself.

Then she heard it. The gurgling sound of someone's throat being cut and a body hitting the floor. Then a cry of rage from another guard before a bowstring twanged and another one hit the ground. Then an angry curse, a cry of triumph… and screaming as their opponent clearly got the better of them. Then silence.

So someone was here. Someone very good at killing quickly and quietly. Now that was weird. Sera had heard the Herald was some sort of holy warrior from some mountain tribe, the sort of person who'd roar into battle with a war cry and a great big sword (oh the fun Sera could have had with _that_ if the Herald had been a man, right?). Not the sort who'd slip quietly in and slit a throat before you even knew you were bleeding. Which meant the Inquisition had sent in its little knives.

Slowly the door into the courtyard swung open, and the noble prat swore and turned to face the empty gate, letting off a jet of fire.

“Show yourself!” the noble snapped. “Are you Inquisition?? How much did you spend to uncover me? It must have weakened you immensely!”

A strange, unearthly giggle echoed through the courtyard and then the noble wanker got his answer as a twisted black knife flew from the shadows and buried itself blade first in the unlucky but fully deserving noble pillock's intestines.

The noble sank to his knees, hand on the dagger's hilt.

“Wha-?” he managed to get out, and then Sera released an arrow and got him in the throat. Squishy one but worth it. Sera lowered her bow and waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing. No sound at all, and Sera wondered where Giggly McKnife-Thrower had fucked off to.

She got her answer when a weight smacked into her from behind, the point of another dagger at her throat.

“Hello, hello!” a male voice cooed in her ear. “Cicero recognises you! You're the one who laid the trail! Hello! Did you want that poor deluded noble dead? Cicero hopes so!”

Cicero was clearly completely fucking mad, but Cicero also had some very sharp knives and no compunction about killing people so Sera wasn't going to risk pissing him off for no reason.

“He was a complete tit to a lot of people, so yeah,” Sera said. “You mind putting the knife away? I'm not gonna stab you. Or shoot you. Or… look, who are you? You Inquisition or what? Fuckin' hope so, didn't go to all that trouble for some knob from the assassins' guilds to have some target practice.”

Sera felt the knifepoint leave her neck as Cicero let her go and sheathed his weapon.

“Yes!” he giggled, before coughing, sounding a little embarrassed. “Er, no. Not technically. But Cicero wants to join! Cicero's going to! Cicero is a friend, you see. A friend of the Herald!”

_You're a fucking psychopath, is what you are._ But Sera said nothing, just turning around to see this weirdo for herself. She immediately wished she hadn't. It wasn't that he was ugly. It was worse than that. He was probably quite an attractive man, if Sera fancied men. Human, not over-muscled, not fat either, clad in black leather armour that probably showed off his assets if you cared to look (Sera did not care to look). Face finely drawn in a way that would give artists and sculptors orgasms at the mere thought of being able to depict it. But the grin and the demented eyes and then there was the fucking Harlequin hat, or the sort of thing a Harlequin should consider adding to their wardrobe anyway – nothing about this man said sane or normal or right. Everything about him screamed fucking lunatic with a knife, fucking run! And he'd killed three guards and would have done Noble Prick too if Sera had let him. Perhaps she should have.

“Well, friend of the Herald, best get under cover quick,” Sera said, picking up the sound of the reinforcements on the way. Cicero raised an eyebrow but melted into the shadows so fast Sera would swear there was no one there if she'd not been looking.

“Why?” Cicero murmured, and he'd clearly done this sort of thing before, because she could barely hear him and he was right there.

“For the reinforcements!” Sera whispered, hiding behind a crate herself and readying her bow. “But don't worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed. They've got no breeches!”

“What??” Cicero hissed, but he had no time to say anything else as the first guards arrived. So he raised his own bow, some gilded glowy magey wotsit that shot flaming arrows, but it did the job. Sera raised her own, perfectly normal thank you, bow that had been not-buggered-about-with by magickers and started shooting. Several guards down before they twigged their location and came running, and that was when Cicero's knives came out and he rolled into action. Literally – one forward roll and then the knives flicked out into the guards' unprotected thighs and severed arteries. Cicero cackled and moved on, slicing and stabbing while Sera took pot-shots at them and within minutes, it was just the two of them, surveying the scene of blood and bodies.

Cicero was looking gleefully at the whole thing, before grinning at her.

“Cicero misjudged you!” the little weirdo cooed. “Stealing their breeches was a fine idea! Made it so much easier for Cicero to stab them!”

Sera had thought it'd be a hilarious prank. Sera wasn't finding it so funny now.

“Yeah… easier… right...” Sera said, laughing nervously. “Er… so, you're the Herald's friend, are you? She couldn't be arsed to come in person then?”

Cicero just sniffed, shrugging.

“The Herald is a very important person! She does not have time to look into every petty plot against her. She has important world-saving things to do! So Cicero found your clues instead and dealt with the problem for her! Cicero does that, you see. Helps!”

So Sera saw. A Herald with her own personal knife-murderer, wonderful. Although he said he'd found the clues and followed them…

“Wait a second, does she even know about this?” Sera demanded. “Did she even find any clues?”

Cicero shook his head, gleefully. 

“No!” Cicero giggled. “Cicero read, Cicero understood. Cicero knows his business. So Cicero came to investigate! And here we all are!”

Cicero's friendly smile faded into something rather more sinister.

“The pretty elf has not told me why she was luring the Herald into a trap.”

Ah bollocks. The Herald's little knife was now considering knifing her. Still, there was just one of him, right?

One of him who could carve up several people in about five seconds, and unless she could immobilise him before he reached her, she didn't fancy her chances. So fast-talking it was then.

“Hey! I wasn't luring her!” Sera cried. “I was _warning_ her! Telling her about some noble ponce trying to kill her and how to find him! And now you found him and sorted him out. You heard him. He thought the Inquisition had spent a vast fortune tracking him down. He didn't stop to think that some houseboy, who don't know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one, might have grassed him up. To me. And my friends.”

Cicero was frowning, but no longer giving her that disturbing grin. He was now using her red handkerchiefs to clean his knives before sheathing them.

“Your friends?” Cicero asked, confused. “Cicero saw no one with you.”

“Course they weren't,” Sera sighed, wondering how to explain this. “Wouldn't be a lot of use to me if they were. Look, here's how it is. You got your big fish up here, shoving their cods around, going 'I'll crush you!', 'No, I'll crush you!', 'ooh, crush you!'” Sera had got a bit carried away, pantomiming two nobles fighting, which had turned into two nobles… yeah, anyway, considering half these noble feuds got settled by marriage anyway, Sera had to wonder if the whole Game thing was just an elaborate courtship ritual for arseholes. But she had Cicero looking politely baffled and felt she should probably get back to the point.

“Anyway, nobles right? Prats the lot of them, looking to punch down. But here's the thing. There's also little people. Cooking your food, sweeping your floors, emptying your privies. And unless you don't eat, sleep or piss, you're never far from someone little.”

Cicero's eyes lit up. “Of course, of course! You pay servants for information? Or impersonate them?”

“No,” Sera sighed. “Look, people like feeling like they're part of something. So we do favours for servants looking to screw over nobles they don't like. In return they help us out. Sometimes it's pass the hat. Sometimes it's 'I lifted this from master's vault'. We get paid, someone gets revenge or a laugh, some knob who deserves it gets brought down a peg or two. Everyone's happy! Except the noble prick, but who cares about him, eh? Point is, I can help. Help the Inquisition, stop stupid people making it all worse, get everything back to normal so the world makes sense again. Maybe I'm not Knifey Shiv-Dark like you, all creeping in the shadows. But if you don't pay attention to the little people, you end up like this lot, with no breeches-” Sera had to stop at that point, nervous hysteria getting the better of her. “They've got no-! Er, Inquisition's got merchants who buy that pish, yeah?”

Cicero laughed, bright eyes gleaming in the shadows.

“Cicero's sure someone will buy them. We can sell them on the way to Haven!”

“Haven – isn't that where that explosion was? The one that killed the Divine?” Sera asked. She'd never been great at geography.

“Yes!” Cicero cooed. “Er, Cicero thinks so anyway. The Inquisition are camped out there still! We go there, we find the nice Herald and offer our services, and then we go out there and suborn people's servants and stab the unworthy. Yes? Yes!”

Sera had a feeling she was going to regret this. But she could always shank him and leave him in a ditch if he turned out bad, right? Well, he was bad, no question about it. But he did say he knew the Herald, and why else would he have bothered following the trail? Sera decided to keep him around. Better to know where he was, right?

“You're a strange one, Cicero,” Sera told him. “But yeah, all right, why not? Let's go find the all-glowing Lady Herald.”

“Yes, yes! We will, we will!” Cicero squealed, running off to retrieve his dagger from the noble's guts, all the while cackling about 'Knifey Shiv-Dark, Cicero likes that one!'

Sera wondered if she was doing the right thing, if this was one of the Herald's friends. But the entire Inquisition couldn't be that bad, right? There must be some nice people there. They'd certainly have _little_ people there. Maybe those little people might be in need of a friend. So she'd put up with Stabby Laughing-Idiot for a bit, maybe point him at someone else if she had to. She just hoped the Lady Herald All-Shining was better than this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Ghislain estate was as glittering as Elisif had expected, and although she'd been able to polish her armour up a bit, and retouch her make-up and brush her hair, she was feeling extremely out of place among all these elegant, masked Orlesian nobles.

Two of them had stepped forward as soon as the footman had announced her.

“Are you really the Herald of Andraste?” the young woman gasped, looking starstruck already. “They are telling the most curious stories about you!”

“They say you can breathe fire and level armies with a word and banish demons!” her male companion said, also sounding impressed. Well now. Seemed tales of the Thu'um were spreading already.

“People exaggerate,” Elisif said, laughing it off. “I find the best way to level an army with a word is to have a better one of your own and shout 'Charge!'”

That got a laugh, the woman in particular giggling coyly, blush just visible under her mask. The man smiled and stepped forward.

“So who are you here for? Madame de Fer or the Duc?”

The Duke? Elisif hadn't heard of a duke.

“I was invited by Enchanter Vivienne,” Elisif said cautiously. “I don't know the Duke.”

“The Duc de Ghislain owns this estate,” the woman explained. “Lady Vivienne is… often here. This is a second home for her. Madame de Fer is an affectionate nickname the court has given her.”

“Then that's who I need,” Elisif decided. “Where might I find her?”

“Oh, Madame Vivienne will surely find you soon enough, now she knows the Inquisition is here,” the woman began, but she was interrupted by the scornful laughter of another man. Another Orlesian noble in a silk shirt and velvet doublet and a mask covering most of his face.

“Hah, the Inquisition? Nothing but a bunch of crazed sisters and washed-up Seekers!” he laughed, sauntering down the stairs with a practised nonchalance. Too practised. Once, Elisif might have been fooled. Not any more. He was easily a good few years younger than her, and he was too obviously favouring his right side. The Slayer of Alduin was already calculating half a dozen different ways she could finish him.

“I'm only old to a child,” Elisif said, not bothering to hide her disdain. The young noble just sneered.

“Pah! You come here, ignorant of our customs, dressed like _that!_ ” he sneered. “This Inquisition is nothing but rabble. Superstitious peasants with delusions of grandeur, and their so-called 'Herald'!”

Elisif hadn't previously laid claim to that title, not explicitly. She was fairly sure Andraste had little to do with her being here, but this man was really annoying her.

“I am the Herald of Andraste, and by the god that gifted me, I will leave a legend behind me when your family name's nothing but a note in some bureaucrat's annals!”

No worse curse to a Nord, but this Orlesian didn't seem to care.

“Hah! Arrogant posturing! I should have expected no better from some Avvar barbarian. If you were a woman of honour, you would step outside and answer the challenge!”

“Done,” Elisif growled, temper fraying. No one insulted a Nord's honour to her face! “In deference to your youth and inexperience I'll accept a yield.”

“No Orlesian ever yields!” the noble snapped, and the fight might not have waited until they were both outside if it hadn't been for the frost spell immobilising the noble.

“My dear Marquis,” a female voice drawled, and from the accent, she clearly wasn't Orlesian in origin. “How unkind of you to use such language in _my_ house, to _my_ guests!”

The speaker was dressed in a silver and white dress, tight-fitting and low-cut, with tails flaring out to reveal white leggings and thigh high black boots. Then there was the silver mask and silver head-dress with pointed gem-studded horns. She had a staff in one hand and frost magic rising from her left fingers, and the brown skin and full lips meant her ancestors likely hailed from northern Rivain originally, although in all honesty that particular colouration wasn't that uncommon elsewhere either.

The Marquis was clearly not feeling quite so brave any more as the unimpressed mage sauntered down the marble staircase and came to face him, staring disdainfully down her nose at the humiliated man. What with her head-dress and heels, she was one of the few people taller than Elisif.

“What am I to do with you, you foolish, foolish man?” Vivienne said, shaking her head, and surely this must be Madame de Fer, it was hard to imagine this being anyone else. Turning on her heels, she turned to Elisif, actually smiling. “You're the wounded party in this unfortunate affair, my dear. What would you have me do with him?”

Now there was an offer. All sorts of possibilities ranged through Elisif's mind from 'public execution!' to 'tie him up and deliver him to Haven, I've got plans for him'. But she discarded those and decided she'd settle for acute embarrassment instead. From what she'd heard of Orlesians, that might actually hurt more.

“Can I tell him off?” Elisif asked hopefully. Vivienne smiled and made way for her, and Elisif stepped up, glaring at him.

“You're incredibly fortunate,” Elisif said, sniffing. “You don't have to face me in a duel after all. You have your life. Try not to waste it, hmm? Oh, and don't get in the Inquisition's way again. I will remember you.”

The Marquis looked a bit nervous, all bravado gone, and Elisif stepped back, point made. She indicated for Vivienne to take over, and the mage did so, shaking her head.

“There you are, you've been told. Try not to disappoint again. Your Aunt Solange will not be pleased to hear you've been picking fights with the Herald of Andraste instead of competing in the Grand Tourney like all the other chevaliers. Didn't they leave this morning? And here you are, still here.”

Vivienne clicked her fingers and the spell dissipated. The Marquis didn't utter another word, just turning tail and fleeing the salon, not wishing to get on Vivienne's bad side. Leaving Elisif alone with one of the most dangerous mages she'd met since leaving the Reach.

“My dear Herald,” Vivienne purred. “I'm so glad you could make it, I've so wanted to meet you. Shall we talk?” 

Elisif assented and followed her away to a more private corner of the estate, the eyes and whispers of the guests following her all the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“There, that's better,” Vivienne said, settling herself in a window seat and indicating for Elisif to join her. “Now then, I do hope you haven't let that little incident with the Marquis bother you? I wouldn't. He never was any good at the Game.”

“Hardly,” Elisif snorted. “I definitely would have won any duel, even without… well, without help.” Something in Elisif told her she didn't want to talk too openly about the Thu'um, not here, not with Vivienne, not yet.

Vivienne seemed impressed, knowing smile on her face. 

“I know, my dear, but I do so dislike duels at social events. So uncivilised. So messy. But don't worry. The Marquis won't be bothering you again.”

“You know that for sure, do you?” Elisif asked, before being suddenly reminded of Cicero and feeling her throat close up as she realised that might be because assassins would ensure he never made it home, and while Elisif certainly saw the need for secret special forces, sending them after someone who'd just been obnoxious at a party was too much. Vivienne seemed to know what she was thinking, because she just laughed.

“Darling, you need to learn to hide your emotions better. No, my dear, I only meant to say that when his family find out, they'll likely disown him. His aunt Solange is the Vicomtesse de Mont-Glace, not a powerful family but a well-respected one… and very devout. It's not the first time he's brought his aunt disgrace… but I suspect it'll be the last.”

Elisif shivered a little before something occurred to her. Devout? But she wasn't even recognised by the Chantry, and she told Vivienne this. Vivienne didn't seem to care.

“Darling, the Chantry's leaderless and in shambles, it's in no position to officially recognise anything,” Vivienne said dismissively, but her words echoed Mother Giselle's – without a Divine, Andrastians were left to their own consciences. This was a strange society indeed, where the temple had such power. Back home, all Tamrielites were left to their own consciences – and the law of the land, of course. The Temples advised and provided comfort and performed charitable works, but there was none of this telling people how to _think_. 

“So are you devout then?” Elisif asked, wondering where Vivienne stood on the whole Chantry business. Vivienne gave what Elisif would come to recognise as the typical Orlesian shrug, the ultimate gesture of equivocality, mixed in with a bit of exasperation at her for asking such a direct question. Characteristically, Vivienne didn't answer it directly.

“I was a great admirer of the late Divine, of course,” Vivienne sighed, as if anyone would admit otherwise, honestly. “She had her flaws, but who doesn't? Now, if you're asking if I really believe you're the true Herald of Andraste… my dear, I have only just met you tonight, you can hardly expect me to answer _that_ on a mere half-hour's acquaintance. Nevertheless, I am very impressed with the Inquisition's efforts thus far, and you seem to be the only ones actually acting in this difficult time. While the Chantry flail ineffectually and the Templars abdicate all responsibility, you seem to be the only ones _doing_ anything.”

“The mage rebellion are doing something,” Elisif felt obliged to point out. “They've had people all over the Hinterlands helping refugees and pacifying the area – they even found a way of temporarily sealing Rifts.”

Elisif almost immediately wished she'd not brought _that_ subject up. Vivienne's eyes flared and her lips pursed, almost as if Elisif had said something dreadfully improper about her mother. Elisif recalled Vivienne's invitation had signed her off as Court Enchanter, and First Enchanter of a Circle that should no longer exist. So Vivienne was still clinging to the Circle structure of old, which likely meant she didn't back the rebellion. Well, there were always some, weren't there.

“If you think I'm going to _praise_ Fiona for finally helping to ease the conflict _she_ started, then you're quite mistaken,” Vivienne sniffed. “As for joining them, _well_. My dear, Thedas took a turn for the worse when Fiona and her malcontents decided the system that had served us well for years, centuries even, should be overthrown on a whim. I don't know if they actually had anything to do with the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes – I do know Fiona lost too many of her own people there for that to be an obvious plan of hers – but the fact of the matter remains that if not for their rebellion, there would have been no Conclave to disrupt in the first place.”

Elisif said nothing, not willing to get drawn into an argument on this one, but the fact remained that just because Fiona's actions had triggered the Conclave and provided a target for the explosion that caused the Breach, that didn't make her wrong.

“So you're turning to us instead,” Elisif said, deciding a change of subject was required. “Can I ask why?”

“Why? My dear, I would have thought the answer was obvious,” Vivienne said, surprised. “Of course I want to assist with this crisis. Mages need to be seen to be doing something, and as leader of the last loyal mages in Thedas, I felt it my duty to offer my services.”

Loyal to whom, was the obvious question and Elisif wasted no time asking it.

“Why, to the common people of Thedas, of course,” Vivienne said, as if this was obvious, and then she clicked her fingers without any preamble whatsoever, and an elven servant appeared with a tray of drinks. Vivienne took one, asked if Elisif wanted one, and seemed surprised when Elisif responded to the servant with a smile and a 'no, thank you'. Vivienne motioned the elf away without even looking at him, and Elisif wondered if Vivienne would even have noticed if, say, one of her own servants had been replaced for the evening by an elven agent working for someone else. 

That had been a favourite technique of Madanach's, that, and Elisif had since made a point of acquainting herself with not only her own servants in the Blue Palace, but Madanach's as well and even a few elsewhere. Even if you never got introduced, you memorised the face, you smiled, you said hello, you remembered them out loud if you'd seen them before, you made sure they remembered you to the other servants as 'that High Queen Elisif was really nice!' Because as her father had once said to her many years ago, maybe nobles starred in the stories (and that was by no means true of all of them either – stories or nobles) but it was ordinary folk who told them. Elisif had never forgotten this.

Elisif looked at Vivienne, no doubt taken to a Circle young, raised apart from ordinary society, then in adulthood managing to land a prestigious job at the Court and a connection with the mysterious Duc de Ghislain. Elisif had to wonder if Vivienne had ever actually met a common person in her life.

“So what do the common people of Thedas expect from their mages then?” Elisif asked, dying to know the answer to this one.

“To practise magic safely and responsibly and not harm their families or their livelihoods, of course,” Vivienne said, rolling her eyes. “To follow the commandment of Andraste that magic should serve man, not rule over him. Fiona would throw over every safeguard on magic that's kept both ordinary people and mages safe these past nine hundred years.”

Elisif did raise an eyebrow at this, but what got her most was the lack of detail. Safeguards on magic and responsible use thereof, well, what mage of any integrity wouldn't want that? Lip service to Andraste's commandment (which Elisif knew damn well hadn't gone on to mandate Circles and Templars – the Chant of Light made no mention of any of this) while at the same time showing no restraint on pursuing her own ambitions. And of course the inevitable snipe at Fiona.

Vivienne definitely hadn't spoken to any common people lately. Elisif realised that thanks to a non-noble upbringing and her travels as Dragonborn and keeping tabs on what her people were up to by talking to Eola and Erandur and Brynjolf and Aela, she probably had a better idea of what ordinary folk thought than Vivienne ever would. And most of them barely thought about magic from one week to the next. Sure, they'd complain if a spell misfired and damaged property or injured someone. But they also all had their local alchemists and practitioners of magic who quietly got on with it and bothered no one. Even Morthal had got used to having Falion around… eventually. There were even Nords using the Markarth-Gold Coast portal link every summer. Despite the obligatory whining about the witchmen, the Nords certainly did appreciate using the Reach's portals to go on holiday every year. It was amazing what people got used to if no one died and it yielded benefits… and if their religion wasn't constantly telling them magic and its practitioners were a danger to their immortal souls, of course. Back in Tamriel, virtually every priest of the Eight knew some magic, even if it was just a few healing spells.

“I see,” Elisif said. “So, your interest in the Inquisition then. You didn't invite me here just to complain about the Grand Enchanter, after all. What did you want?”

“What anyone would want, my dear,” Vivienne replied, smile fading and expression getting that more intense, eyes glittering in the shadows behind that mask. “I want to face my enemy. I want to take the fight to him. I will not wait helpless while the world falls apart around me. If I must go it alone then I shall, but it's surely better to pool our resources, hmm? The Inquisition could use me, Herald.”

“How so,” Elisif said quietly, wondering what to do with this offer and fishing for more detail to buy time. “We do have mages.” Not very many, and few of the same calibre as Solas, but there were some.

“Yes, but I suspect not many with any significant power or connections,” Vivienne purred. “I can bring the entire resources the Circle has remaining to it. I also know every member of the Imperial Court personally. And I am a mage of no small talent. Well, Lady Herald? What do you say?”

Elisif was honestly inclined to tell her what she could do with her pathetic remnant of a Circle. However, all those war table consultations with her advisers, not to mention six years as High Queen, hadn't been wasted. Apparently a bard's daughter from Wayrest did have some political instincts after all.

_Bring her in. She cannot openly challenge us if she is with us. And if she's found to be secretly undermining us, we deal with her. Better to know where she is and what she's doing._

“All right then, Madame Vivienne,” Elisif said, hoping this wouldn't blow up in her face. “Welcome aboard.”

Vivienne's face lit up, eyes bright behind the mask. 

“I knew we could work together,” Vivienne purred. “I'll see you at Haven.”

Elisif could only smile back, hoping she'd made the right choice. This was something she was starting to regret already.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Back in Redcliffe, and the only regret Fiona had was using that portal charm Madanach had made for her. He'd taken a couple of phylacteries from her and used one to make the charm and the other was an anchor. Apparently reciting the incantation and breaking the charm would bring her back to the anchor.

It had worked, Fiona had appeared in the middle of Redcliffe, to be precise in Lord Woolsley's pen, and she was still brushing the straw off her as she ran into the tavern, not sure what unnerved her more, the feeling of nausea from having just travelled over half a continent in seconds or the look that ram had given her when she'd appeared in his paddock. But she was here, hadn't actually vomited and what was more, she had the key to acquiring the Inquisition's help and support. Didn't noble houses often secure alliances by marriage? Well, it looked like the marriage in question already existed. Here was hoping it was strong enough to bear it.

She found Madanach in his room, standing topless in his kilt over a dish of water and staring into a mirror, fingering his facial hair uneasily. Facial hair that lots of people had started to notice looked a bit odd. Specifically, it was silver hair with blonde roots – all his hair was in fact. And the moustache was getting particularly noticeable. Hence standing reluctantly in front of a shaving mirror with Maia on hand passing him things when asked.

“All right, take a good look, cariad, this is the last time you'll see your da with whiskers for a while,” Madanach sighed. “You ready?”

Maia nodded, settling herself and turning to all the shaving paraphernalia laid out on a towel on the bed.

“All right then. Shaving cream please, Maia?”

Maia obediently passed the bottle over and Madanach began to lather up. Fiona watched while he did so, before stopping, sighing into the mirror and holding out a hand to his daughter.

“Maia. The razor.”

Maia handed it over and then sat expectantly on the bed, waiting as Madanach stared into the mirror… and did nothing.

“Daddy?” Maia said curiously. “Are you going to shave then?”

“Yeah, in a sec,” Madanach said quietly. “I just haven't been clean-shaven for over forty years, that's all.”

Forty years?? How old was Madanach anyway? Despite the silver hair, he'd not looked that old. Not much in the way of wrinkles and that wasn't a sixty-something's body. And blonde hair growing in under the grey… had someone rejuvenated an old man somehow?

Maia didn't seem to mind, hopping off the bed and running to cuddle her father.

“Don't worry, Daddy, I still love you!” Maia chirped. “You're still Daddy even without whiskers.”

Madanach laughed and patted her hair, bringing a lump to Fiona's throat. Not something she'd ever been able to have, and not something she exactly missed… but she remembered the child she had given birth to, thirty years ago now, and having to give him up, sending him away for his own good, never being able to get in touch or talk to him… and it turned out his life had hit rock bottom and she could do nothing. But Maia had none of this to worry about. She had a father who loved her and with luck would never have institutions taking the place of loving parents.

“Wise words,” Madanach said, grinning. “All right, let's get this over with.”

So Madanach rather regretfully started shaving, while Maia returned to the bed, eyeing it a bit nervously as she realised the bed was the same height she was and Daddy was too busy to help her on to it. She looked around to see if there was a stool around to stand on, and that was when she saw Fiona watching.

“Hello Fiona!” Maia cried, beaming at Fiona, and Fiona approached, kneeling down so Maia could cuddle her.

“Hello there, little one,” Fiona said. The nickname Mascot had been well chosen – in the few weeks she'd been here, little Maia had captured the mage rebellion's heart. Everyone loved Maia. She'd picked up the language already, the basics anyway, and now insisted on using it to anyone who'd listen, including her own kin. Madanach had been a little saddened but on hearing her insistence she needed to learn, he'd given in and would at least start conversations in Thedosian. Even if it did take a second or two for the translation spell (spell?? it was bloody spirit possession of some sort if Fiona was any judge, but clearly not a very powerful one) to kick in. And it turned out Maia was a very sweet little child, eager to please, usually fairly cheerful and despite invariably being terrified during the actual fighting, had been very enthusiastic about being able to help seal Rifts and stop demons coming through and save the world like her mother. 

Maia clearly did adore her mother very much, and Maia's stories of her mother's adventures sounded a bit unbelievable. But the other mages were lapping them up, particularly all the details of Tamriel, a mystical fairy land where mages could live where they wanted, get married, own property, raise their kids, and the fact that Madanach, despite being a mage, had ended up king of the Reach, a whole country full of mages. Add it all together, along with Eola and Borkul (and Cicero, although his lurid accounts weren't a lot more believable than Maia's) providing more accurate accounts of life in Tamriel to anyone who'd listen, not to mention Liriel's tales of Alinor, the mysterious elven kingdom where magic was not only widely practised, it was celebrated, and the mages were rediscovering their lost enthusiasm. Tonight, Fiona could pretty much guarantee a celebration.

“Hey, Fiona!” Madanach called, glancing up from the mirror. “Don't mind me, in the middle of shaving. Thought I'd, you know, get rid of the multi-colour face fuzz.”

“So I see,” Fiona observed, sitting on the edge of the bed and helping Maia up. “Have you thought what you're going to do when the rest of your hair starts doing that?”

Madanach shuddered then yelped as he cut himself, only just managed to avoid cursing and then the chimes of that strange but superbly effective healing magic he had echoed across the room before he resumed. 

“No,” he admitted. “I guess I either order in some hair dye or live with looking stupid. Either that or illusions. Could work, I suppose. Low-grade charms to ensure people look somewhere else, maybe.”

Madanach finally finished, before cleaning his razor, calling for Maia to pass the towel over and taking it off her. Fiona noticed it had been sitting on a fire glyph – ingenious, although it had done nothing to endear him to older enchanters who'd spent their entire careers telling apprentices that magic couldn't solve everything and that mundane tasks were best solved with mundane means. Then Madanach had turned up, using magic for almost everything, and if there'd been a spell to wipe his backside for him, Fiona had a feeling he'd have used it. No wonder the younger mages loved him.

Madanach was now wiping his newly shaven face with a warmed towel, sighing happily at the feel of it, and coming to sit next to Maia, leaning down so she could feel the stubble.

“Feels funny, Daddy!” Maia giggled, and Madanach kissed her and laughed.

“How do I look?” he said, grinning up at Fiona. Fiona found it hard to say. He definitely looked younger, in fact now the grey hair looked a bit jarring, like a younger man had dyed his hair.

“You look fine. Not my type, of course,” Fiona said primly. “But I'm sure your wife will be fine with it.”

Madanach's amusement died as he looked away. 

“If I ever find her,” Madanach said quietly. “Honestly, Fiona, it's been weeks. We've not been shy about offering to save the world if the powers that be can work with us. Why's she not been in touch?”

“She may have had her own troubles,” Fiona said, wondering how to play this before deciding to start with the bad news. “But I have met with the Inquisition. I got to talk to their Herald.”

She waited for the reaction, and she was not disappointed. Maia had been most unimpressed that the mysterious Herald had usurped her role as Rift-sealer in Chief, and was now scowling furiously.

“Don't like her,” Maia said sulkily. “Stupid Inquisition. Daddy, I don't want to meet the Inquisition!”

“You don't have to,” Madanach said, comforting her despite the identical scowl on his own face, and really when they made that face it was very clear to anyone who looked that they were kin. “That, I imagine, will be my sorry fate when they turn up here – are they coming here?”

“I've invited her,” Fiona said calmly. “I think I've whetted her appetite, and I'm expecting a positive outcome. Don't look like that, Madanach, I think you'll like her.”

“Don't like her!” Maia said, a bit more fervently this time, pouting up at Fiona. Madanach's glare also intensified.

“You do, do you?” Madanach grimaced. “Take it she's not a Chantry-loving Templar type after all then?”

“Hardly,” Fiona said, grinning as she prepared herself for this next part. “It seems that although she's not a mage personally, she's sympathetic. In fact it turns out she married one. They've got a little girl. Also a mage. She's not a fan of anything threatening to take her child away, and unlike some poor farmer, she's got the resources to do something about it. I think you might enjoy giving her a hand.”

Maia's scowl had softened a bit on hearing the Herald had a little girl who was also a mage, while Madanach had looked up, frowning.

“Fiona, I thought you said mages couldn't marry,” Madanach said, and Fiona was impressed he'd spotted that.

“Oh, it's not technically forbidden, but mages in Circles would never be given permission, and most apostates don't stay in one place long enough,” Fiona said, unable to stop smiling. “No, the Herald comes from somewhere that has never stopped mages marrying. Would it help if I told you her name was Elisif?”

Silence as they both stared at her, Madanach's face unmoving but his eyes subtly widening, while Maia was staring openly with her mouth open, little gasp coming from her.

“But that's Mama's name!” Maia cried, turning to her father for confirmation. Madanach placed a hand on her back, nodding once and when he finally spoke, he sounded like he was choking on the words.

“You found her?” Madanach managed to get out, and Fiona nodded.

“I found her,” Fiona confirmed, suppressing the delight at Madanach's expression. The hard man of the mage rebellion had a hand to his mouth looking like he was about to cry. “Tall, red hair, pale skin and freckles on her nose, blue eyes, golden sword, red shield with a wolf's head, helmet with a dragon's teeth, does that sound like her?”

“That's her,” Madanach said gruffly, and now there actually was a tear rolling down his cheek. “That's my girl. My Elisif.” He turned to Maia, who hadn't stopped staring at Fiona. “What do you say, Maia? Shall we write and tell your mama we're here?”

Maia nodded, and then to everyone's surprise, she pounced on Fiona, cuddling her. Fiona forced down a wave of emotion, and settled for stroking Maia's hair.

“Well, Maia, have you changed your mind about the Herald?” Fiona said, already knowing the answer. “Have you forgiven her for sealing Rifts too?”

Maia nodded and cuddled Fiona even harder.

“I want to see her! Is she coming to Redcliffe?” Maia whispered. Fiona nodded, glancing at Madanach.

“I hope so, although your father needs to write to her first. I'm not sure she entirely believed I was sincere.”

Maia frowned and turned to Madanach, wanting to know what 'sin-ceerra' meant.

“Means your ma didn't know Fiona and so didn't quite believe her. So I need to send her a letter so she'll know it's really us. Now, why don't you go find Eola and tell her, hmm? And if you see Borkul and Blackwall, send them too. Need them to deliver that letter.”

Maia squealed and leapt off the bed, running out into the corridor crying out her sister's name. Fiona got up to take her leave, at least until a word from Madanach called her back.

“Fiona. Thank you. For everything.” Madanach was staring up at her, eyes shining and smile lighting up his face, and for a brief instant, Fiona realised what Elisif saw in him.

“You're welcome,” Fiona said, wondering if it was hot in here. “I think we're all going to benefit from this, assuming you can convince her to ally the Inquisition with us.”

“I don't think it'll be a problem,” Madanach assured her, already making for his writing desk. Or at least he was until Eola came in.

“Da! Da, is it true? Fiona found Elisif – gahhh!”

Madanach had turned round at her entrance, and while he'd taken great care to explain the whole shaving thing to Maia and make sure she was OK with it, and have her involved while it happened so she wouldn't be frightened or upset by the change, he'd not done any of this with the older daughter. That might have been a mistake. She was staring at him as if he was a stranger.

“You shaved it off!” Eola whispered, sounding heartbroken. Madanach nodded guiltily, even though she was thirty two and should be able to cope with this sort of thing by now, surely?

“Yeah. The roots are growing in blonde, I didn't want two-tone facial hair. I'll grow it back in at some point, promise?”

“You look different,” Eola whispered, approaching and sitting alongside him, stroking his face. Madanach nodded.

“I'm sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I didn't know it'd bother you.”

Eola was still pouting, but it was Maia who saved the situation by coming up and putting her hand on Eola's knee.

“Cuddle Daddy?” Maia asked hopefully, her usual phrase when she wanted a cuddle. Madanach picked her up and settled her on his lap, and it was then Maia turned hopefully to Eola, holding out her hands.

“Eola cuddle Daddy?” Maia said, fluttering her eyelashes at her sister, and that got a smile.

“Sure, pixie, why not,” Eola said, leaning into her father's embrace and putting an arm round father and sister both.

Fiona looked at this little family tableau and promptly excused herself, heart skipping at the sight of it. If things had been different, if she'd not been a mage, if Alistair's father hadn't been who he was then maybe… just maybe. But as it was, all Fiona had was her rebellion. It would have to be enough.

Taking her leave, Fiona went to find Borkul. Time the not-Tal Vashoth found out the good news too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Fiona is Alistair's mum. Yes, it's entirely possible that might become A Thing at some point.
> 
> Next chapter will be Madanach sending word to Elisif... but seeing as Elisif doesn't have a teleportal charm, she'll be a while getting back to Haven, leaving all sorts of chances for adventures in the meantime. Meaning I can clear more than a few side-quests all in one go! YAY!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As with all fledgeling organisations, the Inquisition's still developing and without an official leader, being run by committee means things fall between the gaps. Which means both a mercenary from an Orlesian warrior band looking for work and the envoy of the mage rebellion looking for a Herald still in Val Royeaux find themselves struggling to get heard... but Leliana's an experienced spymaster and all too skilled at piecing together information from the tiniest of clues, and the Inquisition leaders are faced with either the choice of either pulling together or falling apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before In Hushed Whispers and the Big Reunion Setpieces, a couple of sidequests to get out of the way. Elisif's on her way back from Val Royeaux, but in real terms, that's likely a journey of anything up to a fortnight. Which gives us ample time to have a little fun with the supporting cast, doesn't it? So this chapter follows Borkul and Blackwall as they make the trip to Haven to deliver Madanach's letter to an unarrived Elisif... and the Inquisition's reaction.

_My dearest Elisif,_

_I imagine you're probably surprised to be reading this. I imagine you thought you'd never see this handwriting again, and I am certain you never thought you'd see it here._

_But it is true. Your bargain worked. I'm healed, better than I ever was. I've not felt this strong in years. I have you to thank for that, beloved._

_It was a surprise, although not a shock, to find Kaie as Regent of the Reach. But finding you gone terrified us all. Seeing as we needed to persuade the Empire we were taking this seriously, and as the Reach was already in good hands, I was easily persuaded to lead the rescue party. And so here we are in Thedas._

_We've settled in well. We didn't have a clue where to look though, so we decided to find a place, make it our own and wait for some sign of you. We weren't disappointed, and may I say how utterly unsurprised we are that you've taken on the role of world-saving, demon-slaying hero of legend._

_You in turn will be completely unshocked to learn I've signed up with the mage rebellion in Redcliffe. I know Fiona's already been in contact, but I also know that being a typical Orlesian, she wasn't about to take the risk of playing her hand too soon._

_I however am a Reachman, and more to the point one of only seven people on this entire landmass who can read this language. So I am sending this to you in the hope you'll accept Fiona's invitation and come see us in Redcliffe. Please come soon! I've missed you, and I'm not the only one._

_Always yours, cariad,_

_Madanach ap Caradach,_  
King of the Reach,  
Enchanter-General of the Mage Rebellion,  
Husband of Andraste's Chosen, apparently! 

_Love you, and come find me_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So this was Haven. Nice little place. Pretty mountain village, trees, a lake, would be great if it wasn't ass-deep in snow and ice.

Borkul really wasn't good with the cold. But he had a job to do, and with any luck, Elisif was here. Then he could give the boss's letter to her, get back to Redcliffe with the response, a response hopefully involving Elisif herself going out there with him, and then maybe, just maybe, they could all go home.

Apart from the whole broken sky thing, of course. Blackwall had barely taken his eyes off the Breach since he got here.

“Maker's balls, look at it,” Blackwall breathed, staring up at the glowing green chasm in the sky, with rocks – _rocks_ – orbiting it. Liriel and Eola would doubtless have launched into a passionate discussion on the magical whatevers of the thing, and he could imagine Madanach theorising on it too. But they weren't here and so Borkul wasn't in the mood to pay it any mind. Nothing he could do about it, was there?

“Come on,” he growled. “We got ourselves a Herald to find, haven't we?”

“Right,” Blackwall said, still sounding dazed. “I mean, yeah. We find this Elisif, she can seal the Breach, right?”

That this had been her base for weeks and she'd still not done it didn't exactly bode well in Borkul's opinion. But he wasn't going to count the Dragonborn out either. You never bet against the Dragonborn.

“She'll manage it,” Borkul growled. “Somehow. Think she might do better with the mages at her back though. So let's find her.”

“You've met her, right?” Blackwall said uncertainly, seeing all the Inquisition warriors training and wondering how he'd recognise Elisif if he saw her. There was the famous dragon-tooth crown, yes, but what if she didn't wear it all the time?

“I'll know her,” Borkul said, grinning. “And she will _definitely_ know me.”

That was a given. The big Orc stood out anywhere. They'd avoided mass panic by telling people he was a Tal-Vashoth mercenary, and given most Fereldans had never met a Qunari, it had done well enough as a story. True, Borkul's horns were tiny, studs rather than the prominent horns most Qunari had… but the Hero of Ferelden had had a companion who was a hornless Qunari, and many in Redcliffe had remembered him. Honestly, Liriel's looks had proved more problematic, but the mage rebellion had been all too keen to hear tales of a mystical land where mages were free and casual magic use was the norm, and by the time Borkul had left, Liriel had been on the way to forming her own little cult of Thedosian elven mages.

Borkul didn't know if the same would hold true in Haven. He was certainly getting looks off all and sundry, from the smithy workers to a few distracted soldiers.

“Hey! Pay attention!” the blonde commander in the feathered armour barked. “If this man was your enemy, you'd be dead...” He left his lieutenant in charge of supervising the troops and strode over to where Borkul and Blackwall were waiting.

“Haven't seen you two before. Are you sellswords?”

Blackwall glanced at Borkul and spoke for both, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“I'm a Grey Warden, Warden Blackwall. This is Serah Borkul, and he's got an important message for the Lady Herald.”

“Yeah,” Borkul grunted, irrationally insulted at being called a sellsword. He'd never been that. He'd been a stronghold Orc, a criminal, then Madanach's bodyguard, but never a common sellsword. “Where can I find her? Got a letter from… let's call him a friend.”

The commander narrowed his eyes, looking suspicious.

“The Lady Herald doesn't have any Tal-Vashoth friends. Who are you really working for?”

Borkul glanced at Blackwall, who just shrugged, and Borkul decided fine, if this man wanted to know, he'd tell him.

“Enchanter-General Madanach,” Borkul told him, not seeing any recognition at all in the man's eyes. Damn. “From the mage rebellion.”

That did get a response, namely a tut and a roll of his eyes.

“Talk to the Ambassador,” he growled. “She deals with… visitors. The Herald's still in Val Royeaux at the moment anyway, we're not expecting her back until next week.”

A week?? Typical. But Borkul could at least make himself comfortable in the meantime.

“Fine,” Borkul said, shrugging. “Where is this Ambassador?”

“In the Chantry, it's the big building at the top of the village, you can't miss it,” the commander sighed. “Her office is at the far end on the left.”

Borkul bade him a somewhat surly thank you and turned to go, Blackwall falling in behind… at least until the commander called them back.

“Wait! Did you say you were a Warden Blackwall?”

Blackwall turned, surprised to hear that name having reached Haven – surprised and a little alarmed.

“Yes, why?” Blackwall asked, even more surprised to see the surly blonde commander lightening up a little.

“Leliana was saying something about missing Grey Wardens,” the commander said thoughtfully. “She even mentioned your name, I think. She's in the tent just across from the Chantry door, if I were you, I'd drop by and talk to her. I think she was concerned you'd dropped off the radar for some reason.”

An interesting development, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Borkul challenged Blackwall on it.

“So why's this Leliana looking out for you, hmm?” Borkul said, dying to hear the story behind this. “She a Warden as well? Or a lady friend? Hope your lady-mage ain't the jealous type.”

“Maker, no!” Blackwall protested. “I've never even met this Leliana woman. Only Leliana I ever heard of was the bard who helped the Wardens in the last Blight. Could be her, I suppose, but I never met her. And Mistress Hawke's not my lady-mage. We're just friends.”

Borkul laughed uproariously at that one. The blushing, the mutual awkwardness, but always seeming to seek each other's company out regardless. Blackwall helping Bethany out with the apprentices and being seen sharing a laugh or a drink with her in the evenings. Warden Blackwall was fooling no one.

“Yeah, for now,” Borkul laughed. “But an Orc can tell these things. She likes you.”

Blackwall went quiet, as he always did when the subject of any life outside the Wardens and killing darkspawn came up. Borkul had heard that joining the Wardens was for life, but he'd not heard they were bound to celibacy. Maybe Blackwall just didn't want to leave a young widow behind… but Borkul had served in the Forsworn, where life was also likely short, and there the attitude was seize happiness while you could, and get married to the one you love so at least they'd get widow's rights. Borkul had a feeling something more was going on with Blackwall, but damned if he knew what it was.

So they made their way through snow-covered… streets was not the right word for a village of this size, but the snow was undeniable. Fortunately it wasn't far to the campfire at the top of the village, and the big tent on the left turned out to be the home of this Leliana.

Leliana turned out to be a woman in her early thirties with short red hair just visible under a grey hood, and a pretty face with pale skin, brown eyes and freckles, but an unsmiling expression that radiated utter coldness.

“Can I help you?” Leliana said, Orlesian accent laced lightly through her words, which in Borkul's limited experience meant trouble. Orlesians had an apparently well-deserved reputation for being ruthless political players under all the frills and finery.

Borkul motioned for Blackwall to get on with it and introduce himself.

“Er… hello ma'am. We're looking for Mistress Leliana.”

Leliana's expression barely changed, although Borkul could see her tense up, little furrow appearing in her forehead.

“I see. I was not expecting visitors – are you sure you don't want Ambassador Montilyet, or Commander Cullen?”

Friendly, although in all honesty, no one responded well to two big burly warriors turning up unannounced and asking for them. Particularly not solo youngish women… although Borkul had a feeling Leliana would not be an easy fight.

“We were told to talk to you,” Blackwall replied, sounding a little uneasy himself. “We heard you were looking for Grey Wardens?”

Now that did get Leliana's interest. Straightening up, she turned and made her way over, looking them both over. Her eyes fell on Borkul in particular, eyebrows flicking up as she stared at his tusks.

“I've never seen a Qunari with tusks before,” Leliana mused, looking fascinated. “I didn't know the Wardens recruited from the Tal-Vashoth, although I suppose they'll take any willing fighters.”

“I'm not a Warden,” Borkul growled, before patting Blackwall on the back. “This guy is. Blackwall, introduce yourself.”

Leliana picked up the name immediately, and her face lit up as she turned to Blackwall, taking his hands in hers.

“You're Blackwall!” Leliana cried. “Warden Blackwall! We've been looking all over for you, where did you go?”

A very unexpected turn of events and Blackwall looked a bit nervous as Leliana hauled him over to her table and found him a chair, before perching on her table, actually brimming over with excitement. Did someone have a Warden fetish or something? Bethany definitely wouldn't like that, although it might just incite her to do something about her feelings.

“You were looking for me?” Blackwall said, confused. “What on earth for? I didn't know the Inquisition had an interest in Wardens.”

“We don't – I mean, as a whole,” Leliana said, faint pink blush on her cheeks. “But I was trying to get hold of Lyra, you know, Warden-Commander Surana. So I sent to Vigil's Keep and found it empty. Soldier's Peak too, and that was empty as well. We couldn't find a single Warden in the whole of Ferelden. They'd all vanished. All I had was reports of a warden recruiting in the Hinterlands, a Warden Blackwall. But when we went to find him, he'd gone as well. So we sent to Orlais, and their Wardens have also vanished. All of them. I'd given up hope. But here you are, walking right into Haven!”

“Here I am,” Blackwall laughed nervously. “Nothing sinister about my disappearance – I did a favour for some travellers and ended up helping the rebel mages out. I ran into someone who said he was going to do something about the crisis, an apostate mage travelling with his family. So I went with him to help. He's the one sent me and Borkul here with a message for the Herald. But wardens disappearing – we do that though, right? Blight over, Wardens are the first thing forgotten?”

“Ordinarily I'd agree, but Wardens never leave their keeps completely unpopulated,” Leliana sighed, brooding on this. “This complete disappearance, it's not normal. I heard you were recruiting, who were your handlers?”

“I've not heard from them in a while,” Blackwall said, and was it Borkul's imagination or did Blackwall sound a bit… evasive? Leliana just shook her head, not pressing it further.

“So you don't know anything about it either,” Leliana said, frustrated. “That's… not what I expected. It might all be a coincidence of course, but the timing is curious. Or it could herald something else, something we're not prepared for.” Leliana kicked the leg of the table before looking up again.

“You said something about a message for the Herald?”

Blackwall indicated Borkul, and now Borkul found himself with Leliana looking at him again, and whereas she'd practically squealed over Blackwall and been inclined to give him a free pass, she was giving Borkul her full scrutiny.

“A Tal-Vashoth mercenary who doesn't quite look like any Tal-Vashoth or Qunari I know of has a message for the Herald,” Leliana said, and those dark eyes were keenly intelligent. Borkul knew she'd spot a lie a mile off… unless a Warden was telling it, of course. “Who sent you, and what's the message?”

“It's for the Herald's eyes only,” Borkul growled, hoping intimidation would put her off. “And you ain't the Herald. I'd know the Herald. I don't mind waiting in Haven for her to show up but I'm not leaving it with anyone else. If you must know, it's from the rebel mages. The Enchanter-General heard the Inquisition might need his help and is making an offer to the Herald. A personal offer. For her, and her only.”

Leliana narrowed her eyes, hands on her hips, lips pursed.

“I represent the Inquisition just as much as she does, give me this offer and I can discuss it with the Ambassador and Commander. The Herald's not back until next week, we may be able to make arrangements in the interim...” Even Leliana's voice trailed off under that stare.

“It's _for_ the Herald. And _only_ the Herald,” Borkul growled. Leliana flinched and then nodded.

“Fine. I'll find you quarters,” Leliana said stiffly. Then she stepped back, arch smile on her face. “And I will ensure the Herald's told that the… Enchanter-General wishes to speak with her in person as soon as she arrives. However, if you wanted to do something for the Inquisition, there is something. Something related to Wardens.”

“What is it?” Blackwall said, all ears. Leliana grinned, seeming to know she had him, and Borkul could only groan inwardly. Why did he have a feeling Blackwall had just volunteered?

“The sole remaining lead I have on Grey Warden activity is on the Storm Coast,” Leliana said, indicating the map of Ferelden on the table behind her. “Apparently some of them were travelling through not long ago, looking for something. They might have left some trace behind, or even still be there. We don't know. I sent some people out there a week ago to establish a camp but I've heard nothing back. I need someone to investigate. Well, Warden Blackwall, did you want the job?”

“Of course, you don't even need to ask!” Blackwall said without even hesitating, before glancing at Borkul. “Er… Borkul, you don't have to come, I know Warden business isn't your problem.”

Borkul saw Leliana mouth his name to herself, looking alarmed, and inwardly he just knew there was going to be trouble. Why did he have a feeling someone would try to steal Madanach's letter if he stayed here?

“Fine, I will come, if only to make sure you don't get yourself killed doing something heroic,” Borkul growled. “But not tonight. We'll leave in the morning, and in the meantime, your Warden ass owes me an ale.”

That did get a laugh out of Blackwall.

“Think I can manage that,” Blackwall said gruffly. “Sure I saw a tavern on our way up...”

“The Singing Maiden is down near the inner perimeter,” Leliana told them, smiling. “I'll sort out a tent for you both while you relax and enjoy yourselves. Come, I'll show you the way.”

Leliana led them outside, and it was there they were met by someone else. Short for a man, dark hair shaved into a crew-cut, heavy armour of typical Orlesian mercenary fare but the light brown skin indicated someone from Northern Thedas. Borkul had no idea what the accent was, but he did note the man seemed to be intentionally pitching his voice downwards for some reason, almost as if his natural tones were higher.

“Hey. Are you Sister Nightingale? I was told to try talking to you. Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi of the Bull's Chargers, at your service. We're mercenaries from Orlais.”

“Mercenaries?” Leliana said, confused. “Wouldn't you be better off talking to Commander Cullen?”

Lieutenant Aclassi cut her off, shaking his head.

“Tried that, turns out he needs budgetary authorisation and sent us off to talk to Ambassador Montilyet. She's not sure the Inquisition needs mercenaries and tried to send us back to Cullen. It was Mother Giselle suggested I try you, see if you needed agents.”

“Agents?” Leliana said, taken aback. “I don't know if I need a mercenary band to spy for me...”

Borkul could feel his blood pressure rising as he began to wonder just who was in charge here, and what Elisif's reaction would be. Just how involved was Elisif in organising the Inquisition anyway? Was she into every facet of how it worked, or just a figurehead to inspire the troops and seal Rifts and little else? Elisif was the glamourous public face of the Inquisition, yes, but how much power did she really wield behind the scenes?

Not a lot, or she'd have set things up better to deal with visitors in her absence, Borkul could wager. Madanach would have a fit over things falling through the cracks like this. And he could likely use a band of mercenaries to bolster his conventional forces.

“We'll hire you,” Borkul heard himself say. “I represent the mage rebellion. The Enchanter-General can use well-trained soldiers.”

That did get Aclassi's attention.

“The mages, eh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I'd consider it, but our captain, the Iron Bull, requested the Inquisition specifically. Not often he picks a side, I grant you, but he was insistent. He wants to offer his services to the Inquisition. For a fee, obviously, but I think he thinks it's the right thing to do.”

Slight little noise of surprise from Leliana, and whether it was just that she wasn't used to idealism or just not used to idealistic mercenaries, Borkul wasn't sure. Come to think of it, he wasn't really used to idealistic mercenaries either. The Companions aside, morals didn't really play into most Skyrim mercenaries' business decisions either.

“The mages are working with the Inquisition,” Borkul growled. “Or we'd _like to_ , if we could just get someone round here to make a decision.”

That did get an annoyed gasp from Leliana.

“You asked for the Herald and only the Herald!” Leliana gasped. “You wouldn't tell me anything!”

“I'd already been passed from Cullen to the Ambassador,” Borkul snapped. “Wouldn't even have been sent to you if he'd not recognised Blackwall's name. So yeah, I thought I'd wait for someone I know can actually make decisions. And who would gladly agree to meet this Iron Bull if he was offering help.”

Aclassi's expression had changed and now he was actually smiling.

“You know the Herald?” Aclassi asked, curious. Borkul nodded.

“Yeah. You want to save the world, you could do worse than follow Elisif. She's got form with this sort of thing. Where is he? I can tell a warrior's worth.”

Borkul ignored Leliana's inhalation at the mention of Elisif's name. All his attention was on Cremisius Aclassi.

“We're camped on the Storm Coast,” Aclassi told him. “Bull wanted to keep tabs on a bunch of Tevinter soldiers who've staked out some territory up there. You're welcome to come back with me and check us out, give us a hand with the Vints.”

Borkul glanced at Blackwall, who nodded, and Borkul held out a hand.

“Sold. We were heading that way anyway.”

Aclassi was all set to shake on it until Leliana intervened.

“Hey!” Leliana cried. “It's the Inquisition this contract was offered to, not the mage rebellion! We don't even have an agreement with the mages yet!”

“The contract's going to whoever's paying,” Aclassi said, folding his arms. “If the Inquisition aren't organised enough to take it up, Bull will find that information as useful as an actual job.”

Meaning he might just sell it to others, and Leliana had been a spymaster too long to let that happen.

“All right, I will talk to Josephine and get payments set up,” Leliana said through gritted teeth. “You're hired on probation. Prove your worth and we'll keep you on. Borkul, Blackwall, go with Lieutenant Aclassi, meet his boss, look into that other business while you're there, and then bring or send Iron Bull and friends back here. Unless of course you have reason to doubt them, in which case the deal is off.”

Aclassi grinned, promising her the Inquisition wouldn't regret this, and Leliana shook hands on the deal. Borkul decided a third warrior on the road couldn't hurt. He just hoped the Bull's Chargers were all they were cracked up to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Josie!” Leliana cried, racing down the Chantry's hallway. She'd given orders to have the three warriors sorted out with tents, left them in the Singing Maiden with a fifty royal bar tab between them to keep them occupied, and then ran off to find Josephine. This was too urgent a development to ignore.

She found Minaeve and her team sitting outside the office, bored. It turned out Cullen had just preceded her for a private meeting with the Ambassador

Leliana highly doubted this would concern anything she wasn't allowed to know about… unless they were having an affair of course, but if that were the case Leliana had some strong words for Cullen.

They were not fucking on the desk, thankfully. Josephine was in her seat, looking defiantly up at Cullen, who was looming over her.

“I'm telling you, it's a problem!” Cullen cried. “The rebel mages just sent an envoy, and you're telling me you have no idea where he is despite me sending him here?”

“Commander, if you'd bothered to bring him yourself, we wouldn't have lost him,” Josephine said tersely, gold rings gleaming in the candlelight as she gestured with her quill. “Need I remind you to send an escort next time?”

“Escort?? Josephine, I'm not the bloody door-greeter!”

“You and your troops are the first thing visitors to Haven see, you could at least try and present a good first impression!” Josephine hissed at him. “We've had no luck getting to see either the mages or the templars, and now one of them sends an envoy and you manage to lose him?? I know you'd have preferred a templar emissary, but we need to put our personal feelings aside and work with what we have! Also I cannot believe you of all people let an unsupervised mage wander around Haven!”

“He's not a bloody mage, they couldn't even be arsed to send one of their own!” Cullen snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration. “They sent some Tal-Vashoth mercenary and a Grey Warden. I sent the Warden to Leliana, but they weren't in her tent, the place was empty...”

“Because I was arranging their accommodation and settling them in the tavern,” Leliana said, securing the door behind her. “Josie, we have a problem. Cullen, that envoy is not a mercenary, I don't think he's even a Tal-Vashoth.”

“Oh come on, Leliana, he's nearly seven foot tall and green, what else could he be?” Cullen sighed. “Don't tell me a Qunari agent is working with the mage rebellion. Qunari _chain_ their mages.”

“He's a trusted retainer,” Leliana said quietly, staring at Josephine and hoping she'd work it out. “He's here because the mage rebellion's Enchanter-General sees him as a right-hand man. They've probably worked together for years. I don't know what his race is, but he's no Tal-Vashoth. They don't have tusks.”

“They don't?” Cullen said, confused, and Josephine had sat up, whispering “tusks??”

This had clearly been the wrong tack and Leliana rubbed her forehead, wishing Josephine at least would snap out of it.

“Look, never mind about the tusks,” Leliana sighed. “The Enchanter-General of the mage rebellion, presumably a mage, has a longstanding right-hand man who is not a mage and could not possibly have been a Templar. Which means…?”

“The Enchanter-General's an apostate?” Cullen said, going pale. “Wait, that's where he got all that tactical know-how from, he's been living in secret in some noble's army or a mercenary band?”

“Not in secret,” Leliana said, staring at Josephine, and from the growing look of horror on her face, she could tell Josie was figuring it out at last. “I don't think this man has ever felt any need to hide his magic. My people tell me the mages have suddenly got good at marrying conventional attacks with arcane ones. He'd never learn how to use both if he had to hide his magic.”

“But where then – what, you mean he's _Tevinter?_ ” Cullen gasped and Leliana gave up.

“No!” she cried. “He knows the Herald! _By name!_ ”

“But that's impossible, we've kept it quiet-” Cullen began, only to stop talking immediately when Josephine reached out and took hold of his arm.

“The Enchanter-General's from Tamriel,” Josephine said quietly. “He's a Tamrielite general, and because they never restricted mages to a Circle, their armies use magic. And he's here. Looking for Elisif. He joined the mages and bided his time, and now he knows she's here. Maker save us.”

Cullen was staring like he'd been slapped. When he finally regained use of his voice, he didn't sound anything like as authoritative as he'd once done.

“Are you serious?” Cullen whispered. Leliana nodded, perching herself on the corner of Josephine's desk. Cullen didn't say another word, just shoving a pile of Minaeve's books to the floor and sitting down on the stool, head in his hands.

“They found us,” Josephine whispered. Leliana nodded.

“They found us.”

“They found – Ambassador, how much work do you think it would take to meet the Templars?” Cullen asked, fingers in his hair.

That had both Leliana and Josephine sitting up, appalled.

“The Templars??” Leliana cried. “After all this? After learning Elisif's fellow countrymen are working with the mages and want to open negotiations? We won't _get_ a better opportunity than this!”

“If we say yes to this, we're giving a hostile foreign power a foothold in our organisation, and you're all right with this?” Cullen shouted, before all three glanced at the door and subsided, keenly aware that anyone might be listening. Cullen leaned in closer and lowered his voice.

“We know nothing about them!” Cullen hissed. “We don't know what their intentions are or what they're planning!”

“On the contrary,” Josephine said, twirling her quill as she stared into the distance. “We know exactly what they're after. They want their High Queen back. And she's already part of the Inquisition. We gave Tamriel a foothold in the Inquisition the moment we agreed to bring Elisif in.”

“Come on, Commander,” Leliana said, smiling a little in an attempt to lift his spirits. “We all knew this was going to happen one day.”

“One day, yes, not a mere few weeks later!” Cullen hissed. “How the actual fuck did they find her this quickly when they had no idea we even existed?”

“You use phylacteries to track mages,” Leliana said, shrugging. “They must have something similar. Anyway, it doesn't matter. What matters is they're here and they know where Elisif is. We kept her name quiet, her identity hidden behind the heroic exterior, but I have to admit she is not inconspicuous. Five-foot-ten red-haired warriors who can breathe fire don't exactly turn up every day. They wouldn't need to hear stories of an Elisif, all they'd need to hear was stories of what the Herald could do, and they'd start looking our way. At least we can take heart from the fact they can only have sent a small party.”

“And we're just going to let them walk in,” Cullen sighed, knowing when he was outnumbered. “We're just going to let this Enchanter-General Madanach walk all over us.”

Silence and a little gasp from Josephine, and Leliana… had Leliana just squealed?

“Are you serious?” Leliana gasped. “That's his name? Madanach?”

“That's what the envoy said,” Cullen said, wondering just where Leliana and apparently Josephine had heard this name from. “How on earth do you two know?”

Exasperated tutting from Josephine and Leliana was rolling her eyes.

“Commander, you need to pay more attention to these things,” Josephine sighed. “Elisif has mentioned him before.”

“Even Cassandra knows who he is, in fact I think Elisif's confided in her more than any other,” Leliana said with a smile. “Honestly, Cullen, trust you to have paid no attention whatsoever.”

Cullen was racking his brains, he really was but try as he might he couldn't place the name.

“I don't know, who is he?” Cullen said, feeling a little tetchy, and Maker, Leliana's smug grin was annoying. “Ambassador, please tell me.”

Josephine had a soft spot for the less fortunate and told him.

“Her husband, Cullen,” Josephine explained. “Her husband's called Madanach. The Enchanter-General of the mage rebellion is Elisif's husband. He's come to find his wife.”

“His wife – but I thought he was ill!” Cullen said, confused. “Elisif said she'd done some rite or other because her husband was dying of some incurable disease. How in the Void is he now suddenly healthy enough to come here and start turning Fiona's mages into an army?”

“The ritual must have worked,” Josephine said, and she also sounded amazed at the idea that Andraste had not only brought the Herald to help Thedas, she'd kept her word and healed the Herald's sick husband.

Cullen didn't even know how to react, except to think that the Maker must have cursed the entire Templar movement for reasons best known to himself, because there was no way the Inquisition would be getting their help now. It wasn't that he didn't like or trust Elisif, but it was easier to do both of those things when you just thought of Elisif as an individual woman with no ties. Bring in a husband, a retainer, gods help him, there was a child wasn't there? Well, presumably no one with any sense would have brought a five year old girl on a high-risk mission to an unknown land. But Elisif was a Tamrielite, and her people had found her. Which meant that unless they could be made allies – and Cullen wasn't entirely sure how an alliance with a nation of eight gods could be made to square with Andraste's commandment of no gods but the Maker – Thedas could be staring straight into the Abyss. 

Cullen couldn't help but shiver. He'd go along with this because he truly didn't see any other way, but by the Maker, this could not end well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Evening in the Singing Maiden, and Josephine was straightening her cravat and adjusting her waistcoat. She really didn't make a habit out of coming here, and never during the evening. But the sun had gone down, Maryden the bard was singing, and as Ambassador of the Inquisition, she needed to greet the new arrivals in person.

Except the tavern wasn't the venue she'd had in mind. Especially not after last time. Josephine couldn't really remember last time, but Leliana had been delighted to fill her in afterwards. Josephine hadn't been so mortified in a long time. Thank Andraste Elisif hadn't seemed to mind, and she'd noticed a distinct change in attitude on the part of various Inquisition people. Everyone just seemed that bit less… formal. Josephine wasn't sure whether she liked that or not. Leliana had told her not to worry about it, it just made her look more human, more… spontaneous. Josephine didn't know how to react to that. She didn't want to look spontaneous! Josephine didn't do spontaneous! Or – or informal! Spontaneity and informality didn't have rules, they didn't have goals or outcomes or anything to negotiate with or over. Josephine had no idea how to deal with it at all. And here she was about to have to do diplomatic hospitality… in a tavern. With three likely drunken warriors who'd been in here for two hours already.

“Leliana, I don't think I can do this,” Josephine whispered, pulling the fur-lined coat around her. Varric had shot a few rams and had Harritt knock the thing up for her especially. Josephine did have to admit it was warm at least.

“Of course you can, Josie!” Leliana said, amused. “It's just a polite social call, like any other.”

“It's in a tavern!” Josephine hissed. “It is not like any other!”

“Then you need to get out more,” Leliana said, opening the door and ushering her in. “Go on, in you go.”

Leliana actually pushed Josephine in, Josephine only just managing to keep her balance and attracting the attention of half the tavern.

Silence and nervous stares, even Maryden pausing mid-chord, because the Ambassador just didn't do this sort of thing. The Ambassador didn't leave the Chantry often, she spent all her time with visitors and the governing council, she didn't bother the ordinary people of Haven much. Josephine would dearly like to not be in their space now.

But Leliana had stepped in behind her and taken her arm, and led her over to the table where the envoy was sitting.

Seven foot tall, nearly, so Cullen had said. He was sitting down but the broad shoulders and muscles overshadowed the entire table… and Cullen hadn't been wrong about the green skin either. Dark eyes peering out over a broad nose with little ridges on the bridge, the lines of little horns above each eye, pointed ears and the tusks! Viciously pointed twin fangs jutting out of his lower jaw, and while Leliana or Cullen might have been questioning what function they had, Josephine was too awed to think about it much.

She barely even noticed the bearded man next to him, or the beardless mercenary she'd been talking to earlier. All three men were sitting around a table, playing cards, drinking but not heavily from the look of it. They'd all looked up, surprised, but Josephine had barely taken her eyes off the big not-Tal Vashoth.

“Hello… I mean, good evening, serah,” Josephine said, somehow managing to collect her thoughts. Protocol. Discipline. The steps of the Game. Josephine took a deep breath and focused herself. “Welcome to Haven. I am Josephine Montilyet, and it is my honour to be the Inquisition's Ambassador. Leliana tells me you were sent by the Enchanter-General himself. You'll have to forgive us, we've heard of his deeds but very little of the man himself. When did Grand Enchanter Fiona appoint him?” 

“Not long ago,” the envoy replied, voice low but not unfriendly, even seeming to smile as he moved up the bench to make room for her. Meanwhile the Tevinter mercenary had found a chair for Leliana and the bearded one had shifted up into a vacant seat. Josephine settled down next to the envoy, feeling a little nervous. Well, wouldn't anyone, sitting next to a man that size?

“It was just after the conclave,” the envoy said. “We'd not been in Ferelden long, ran into Warden Blackwall here, and then he suggested finding the rebel mages. Seeing as the boss is a mage and all. Turns out you can't put Madanach anywhere and he doesn't start organising an army.”

A good-natured laugh but Josephine couldn't help but feel a little nervous. At some point, he'd surely want to come here.

“We already have a commander,” Josephine said, alarmed. Borkul grinned, motioning to a passing serving girl.

“Sure you do. We even met him. Seems to know what he's doing when it comes to soldiers. Madanach's not interested in taking the Inquisition over. He's after co-operation and peaceful co-existence, nothing more. Oh, and a meeting with the Herald. He's keen to meet her.”

_I bet._ Josephine would be interested indeed to see that meeting… or reunion, more like. It would likely be adorable. 

“Well, when she returns, I'll be happy to set up such a meeting,” Josephine told him. “We need the mages' help to close the Breach – Elisif's mark is powerful but it can't do it alone.”

The envoy's eyes flickered up, delight in his eyes as he heard that name.

“I'm sure Madanach will be happy to help her out,” he said, grinning. “Name's Borkul, by the way. That's Krem Aclassi of the Bull's Chargers, and that's Warden Blackwall. Who has a _girlfriend._ ” This was said with surprising vehemence at said Blackwall, who'd been smiling at Josephine until Borkul glared at him.

“Hey! Steady on!” Blackwall protested. “No need for that! And Mistress Bethany isn't my girlfriend.”

“Tell her you're not interested then, shall I?” Borkul said shrewdly and Blackwall's tune changed yet again.

“Ah, well, no need for that, is there?” Blackwall said nervously. “Bethany and I… er, look, it's complicated. And er, well, would you look at that, it appears to be my round.”

“Good man,” Borkul growled as pints appeared for the three men, while Leliana requested two halves for her and Josephine.

“After last time she was in here, I'm not sure it's safe to let Josie drink pints any more,” Leliana said, sly grin on her face, and Josephine could hit Leliana sometimes. 

“Why, what happened last time?” Krem asked, and Josephine felt her heart sink as she realised this story was never going away. Sure enough Leliana launched into details, cheerfully recounting the whole episode, to Josephine's utter mortification.

“You outdrank the High Queen of Skyrim?” Borkul laughed, new respect in his eyes as he patted her on the back. “Oh, wait until I tell Madanach this!”

“You think he'll be pleased? I don't,” Blackwall said, raising an eyebrow. Borkul just smirked.

“He'll laugh unless she's in the room,” Borkul grinned, raising a tankard to drink, and Blackwall did laugh and concede that point.

Josephine drank heavily from her own tankard, heartily wishing the whole thing had never happened, and Leliana's smirking was making the whole thing worse.

“Were you playing Wicked Grace?” she said, indicating a card layout she was sure she recognised. “It's been a long time since I played...”

“But you've played it,” Borkul said, seizing on the subject with interest. Josephine nodded. Leliana opened her mouth to say something then closed it again, watching curiously.

“Right,” Borkul said, picking his cards up. “Give me a hand, Aclassi over there is taking my arse to the cleaners. Need to win some coin and dignity back off him.”

Something in Josephine's mind was telling her this was a bad idea. Something in her was telling her to run. But she'd come here to forge diplomatic relations, right? So maybe she could give Borkul a hand.

“In your dreams, Borkul,” Krem said, sipping his pint and reaching for his cards. “I'm on if you are. Blackwall?”

“Done,” Blackwall said instantly, but Leliana shook her head.

“I'll watch,” Leliana said, sitting back in her chair and adjusting her hood, seeming to withdraw into the shadows without actually moving. “You carry on without me.”

So they did, and slowly the pile of gold in front of Krem began to get smaller, and the pile in front of Borkul began to get bigger, and before long Blackwall was folding before he got cleaned out. 

“You _have_ played this before, haven't you?” Borkul said to her, grinning. Josephine blushed, before admitting she might have played it once or twice before now. Leliana had been the one to teach her in fact, but Josephine didn't mention that. Leliana was just smiling smugly at her protegee cleaning up.

Borkul put his arm round Josephine and gave her a hug, and Josephine felt the blush increasing. No one touched her, day to day. No one, other than family members. Or Leliana. But for someone to spontaneously touch her… unheard of.

Josephine's mind was on the verge of shutting down, because Borkul was _right there_ and under that armour was no doubt muscle and brawn and green skin and body hair and…

She had to get out of here. Wriggling out from under his arm, she sat back, feeling guilty at the confused look on his face. He didn't try and stop her though.

“Josie?” And that was Leliana, kneeling at her side, one hand on her arm, and glaring daggers at Borkul. “Josie, are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” Josephine whispered. “I'm merely… is it hot in here? I think the alcohol must be… affecting me. I – I should probably go.” She got to her feet, swaying slightly, reaching out for Leliana, who took her arm and steadied her.

“All right, Josie, we'll get you home,” Leliana said gently. “Come on.”

“Right,” Josephine whispered, before she recalled she was a diplomat still. Protocol. Courtesies. Sweet, blissful formality. Josephine turned and bowed to Borkul.

“Thank you, Serah Borkul,” Josephine said, not quite meeting his eyes. “This has been a most entertaining evening. I wish you all the best and you may tell the Enchanter-General the Inquisition looks forward to working with the mages.” Josephine bowed and left, Leliana helping her out with some considerable concern, and Borkul didn't miss the pointed stare the spymaster was giving him.

Josephine on the other hand. Josephine Montilyet was something else. Borkul could read people far far better than anyone ever gave him credit for, and he'd seen the way she'd been looking at him. Edging closer, laughing, squealing when they won a hand, her leg rubbing up against his. He'd seen a pretty, intelligent, fine figure of a woman turning breathless every time he looked her way, and he'd decided instantly he could do with more of that. So he'd rather recklessly gone for a friendly hug… and she'd frozen up as soon as he touched her. Had he broken some taboo? Misread her? Scared her off? Fucking hell, this always happened. He'd make a move, and they'd freeze and run away, because flirting with the big Orc was one thing but actually touching him was something else. Or worse, they'd have sex with him because of curiosity or an Orc fetish, but never want anything more. Honestly, he was beginning to wonder if going back to a stronghold might be better… but then he'd look at Borgakh, remember their childhood and recall that, no, the strongholds weren't any better, worse if anything.

But Josephine had bowed and said a formal goodbye, which was something. Did it mean anything personal or did she just not want to sabotage the alliance with the mages? Borkul wished he could tell her not to worry about it, he wasn't about to screw Madanach over. But he couldn't, and likely wouldn't get to talk to her privately, not if Leliana had anything to do with it. Leliana had clearly assumed the role of Josephine's protector in the absence of any kin nearby. Now that was going to be a problem. Leliana out of everyone here seemed the most frighteningly competent, certainly the most ruthless. Definitely time to park things for now. He'd need Madanach and Cicero around for protection before things went any further there.

“She's out of your league.” Blackwall, poking his nose in, as if Borkul needed telling this.

“Did I ask your opinion?” Borkul snarled. Blackwall didn't even flinch, just drinking his pint.

“She's a noblewoman of good family, and an Inquisition high official,” Blackwall warned him. “When she gets married, it'll be to some handsome nobleman with money and standing, not you.”

“And if it wasn't marriage you were after, that Leliana will probably slit your throat,” Krem added, seeming to find this whole thing hilarious. That at least was true. Borkul growled, frustrated. A million things getting in the way, and honestly Josephine probably wasn't interested anyway. All the same, it galled. Because he was getting on in years and you could only have emotionless sex so often before it got old. Why not find a wife? And he could stand to have more evenings in taverns spent getting happily drunk with pretty Josephine nestled up against him.

He'd need to talk to Madanach. He had a feeling that it was rather more complicated than just sending bride-price to her father. But he was the sworn brother of the King of the Reach and Imperial Heir's Husband, and the actual brother of the Acting Reach-Queen's consort. Had to count for something, right? He just hoped this alliance worked out. Although having said that, if it fell apart, he had a feeling they'd all have bigger problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did like writing this one. I got to write Krem! He's awesome! There will be more of him, I think.
> 
> As for Borkul and Josie, I put them together, and they just seem to meld. The chic and stylish ambassador (who is secretly a total nerd who likes diplomacy and politics because there are rules), and the big burly Orc warrior. It's a match made in heaven, I'm telling you.
> 
> Next up, three warriors go travelling and run into an old friend, and Iron Bull makes his appearance.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What should be a routine stop turns into anything but as a rift causes a unique set of one problems for one Fereldan community. But Blackwall's not the type to walk away from innocent people in trouble, and Krem and Borkul are hardly unskilled. When they run into an old friend and his new friend, the five of them set to work, and it turns out the Herald's friends can do an awful lot even without the Herald herself there. Meanwhile the Herald herself is back from Val Royeaux, and the news awaiting her will change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sera and Cicero are back! We also have Borkul, Blackwall and Krem venturing north to the Storm Coast, and on the way, they all stop off in a little town called Crestwood...
> 
> I should probably warn for Cicero being a murdering little sadist at one point too. Cicero's a disturbing little shit who terrifies the living daylights out of normal people and since marrying Eola, has taken up occasional cannibalism when he can get away with it. And in this chapter, he gets left to his own devices.

Two days out of Haven. Haven's cold weather giving way to non-stop rain as they travelled past Lake Calenhad, and now they'd ended up in Crestwood, a nondescript little village that the constant rain had not improved. The bandits hadn't helped either, although three armed to the teeth warriors had little problem dealing with them. The wolves had been a mere annoyance too.

Then came the walking dead.

“You've _got_ to be kidding me,” Borkul growled, swinging Volendrung and watching with some satisfaction as the mottled corpse exploded with a squelch. “What are these things? How the fuck long have these been dead?”

“Too long,” Blackwall said grimly, at the same time as Krem said “Not long enough!” There was truth to both views. Not dead long enough to be bones, but looking like they'd spent the best part of ten years at the bottom of a pond or something. They smelt horrific, but the way they disintegrated was vaguely entertaining.

Of course, the presence of so many in a habitable area was troubling. Borkul didn't scare easily, but he'd heard too many Reachman campfire tales of the Day of the Dead, when there would be no more room in Oblivion, and the dead would walk the earth, just unending armies of the walking dead marching forever and ever, their bites passing the disease on and your fallen comrades becoming the next recruits, and that the Matriarchs devoted themselves to ensuring this never came about. Borkul personally believed that if Day of the Dead was caused by Oblivion being full, the Matriarchs had probably contributed to this, and that one of them buggering about with necromancy was the most likely cause of any future Walking Dead Apocalypse. But he kept this opinion to himself. 

What he had noticed, however, was that none of the corpses were armoured, most weren't even armed, and their fighting skills were not great. Well, a walking corpse probably wouldn't be the best. But one thing was clear, these were not the corpses of warriors. These were undead traders and farmers. These were likely the local dead, and from the rate of decomposition, they'd all died around the same time. Some natural disaster that had killed them all? A plague? Maybe that Blight thing the older Fereldans all spoke of in hushed tones. Borkul wasn't sure, but he had a feeling it was significant somehow.

And then the walking dead were being ridden down by the Riding Dead… or riding on a dead thing anyway.

“GET ME OFF THIS SODDING… THING!” A woman, screaming into the darkness of the storm. And then a voice Borkul knew all too well.

“IT IS THIS OR WALK AND FIGHT THE CORPSES! WHICH SERA WAS WHINING ABOUT EVEN MORE! YOU WANTED A HORSE, CICERO GOT ONE!”

“I THOUGHT YOU MEANT A REAL HORSE! NOT THIS WEIRD DEMONY THING! AND MY ARSE HURTS!”

“ARVAK IS A REAL HORSE! Arvak, do not listen, she knows not what she says, Cicero still loves you!”

Strangled screaming from the woman, and then the hoofbeats got louder and the horse rounded the corner.

“Maker's balls!” Blackwall gasped, and Krem actually drew his sword.

“What the actual fuck...” Krem said, readying his shield. Borkul couldn't blame them. The glowing purple skeletal horse took a bit of getting used to and had led to complaints from all over Skyrim. Even the Reachmen had been a bit unnerved. Borkul really couldn't blame the skinny elf clinging on to Cicero for screaming.

Cicero reined in Arvak, seeing three warriors and preparing for a fight, no doubt… but then his eyes fell on Borkul and his entire face lit up.

“BORKUL!” he squealed, sliding off the horse and scampering over, sighing happily as he cuddled the big Orc. Borkul put up with it. He'd got fond of Cicero, despite the little misunderstanding when they'd first met. Not many people understood bloodlust like Cicero did.

“Cicero??” Blackwall was saying uncertainly, and Krem was backing away nervously.

“You know him?” Krem said, disbelieving.

“Yeah,” Borkul said proudly, patting Cicero on the back. “Known him for years. You want something dealing with, he's your man.”

Cicero beamed, at least until movement caught his attention and his face fell.

“Sera!” Cicero wailed. “Sweet Sera! Nice Sera! Don't run away!”

The elf, presumably Sera, had wasted no time getting off the undead skeleton horse and was already fleeing… but she stopped on hearing Cicero's voice, turning and glaring at him.

“You are just _wrong!_ ” she shouted back at him. “The singing and the bloody _giggling,_ and the knives and the fucking _dead horse_ that you just _summoned_ from somewhere! I mean, what?? Seriously, WHAT? I can just about deal with All-Stabbing Knifey Shiv-Dark, but not that you're some sort of weird apostate on top of that!”

Silence apart from the rain thudding down, thunder overhead and in the distant, the rattling of corpses, as Sera and Cicero stared at each other, Sera furious and Cicero… Cicero was pouting, cutting a tragic figure indeed in his black leather and the sodden jester hat flat against his hair.

“Sera?” Cicero whispered, and despite the thunder drowning out the sound, Sera could lipread well enough, and his face said far, far more.

“Stop it!” Sera shouted. “Stop being all sadface and lonely heart! It's not cute! _You're_ not cute! You're a freaky nutjob pain in the arse – stop that! Agggghh!”

Sera threw up her hands as the undead horse faded back into whatever bit of the Fade it had come from, before stomping back over, still glaring at Cicero.

“You're a fucking weirdo,” she snapped at him, before turning to the others. “Are you Inquisition? Please tell me they're not all like him. Maker, please tell me they're not all like him.”

“We're not all like him,” Blackwall reassured her. “I'm Warden Blackwall, a Grey Warden. Technically I'm with the mage rebellion, but we're working with the Inquisition. And I promise no undead horses in Inquisition camps. Didn't know he could summon one.”

“Cicero learnt!” Cicero cooed. “Cicero found Arvak while he was lost and lonely in the Soul Cairn – that's, er, part of the Fade back home. A not very nice part of it. Cicero didn't stay long. Cicero only went because he had to help save the world. But Cicero found Arvak and now Arvak is Cicero's!”

“Hang on, you were in the Fade?” Blackwall said, scratching his head. “Cicero, that isn't possible.”

“Certainly for a non-mage it isn't,” Krem said, looking curiously at Cicero. “You don't look like one.”

“Cicero isn't!” Cicero protested, confused. “Cicero just knows a few spells. His wife taught him most of them. Also Cicero used to have to do this ritual every week. It, er, honed his Alteration skills. So pretty Eola made use of it. That doesn't make Cicero a mage! Cicero gets bored easily, you see. Cicero's not very good at the magicka-enhancing exercises or the hours of study.”

“Maker's balls,” Blackwall sighed, rubbing his forehead. “We've got a barely-trained mage on our hands who's got no discipline whatsoever.”

“Cicero isn't a mage!” Cicero protested. It was actually Krem who patted him on the back.

“Sure you aren't,” Krem said, grinning. “You just keep using your not magic to help us out and we'll say no more about it, right? Just try not to go all demon on us.”

“Couldn't make him any weirder,” Sera muttered darkly. “Speaking of which, corpses.”

More of them were lurching into view, and Sera was the first to fire off an arrow… but Cicero was next, and the gleaming bow he was using didn't just set fire to them, it made them explode. It wasn't long before this wave was no more.

“All right, so you've got your uses,” Sera grudgingly admitted as Cicero cooed over the remains, retrieving his arrows from the scattered corpse-bits.

“He has that,” Borkul said proudly. “Come on, the village is up ahead, let's see if there's a tavern.”

There was no tavern. But there were frightened villagers willing to talk, who'd sent to the Inquisition weeks ago (“let me guess, Leliana and Cullen are still squabbling over whose responsibility it is?” Krem muttered once the villagers were out of earshot). Slowly it became apparent that a rift had formed at the bottom of the lake and the demons coming out of it were possessing the corpses of villagers that had died in the Blight – drowned when darkspawn smashed the dam controls. Which were apparently hidden behind the fort full of bandits.

“We should do something to help these people,” Blackwall said grimly. “It's not right we just leave them.”

“And do what?” Borkul snapped. “We can't close that rift. We need Elisif or the Mascot for that, and Madanach's not sending the Mascot up here.”

“No,” Krem said thoughtfully. “But we could check out the dam controls, see if there's anything we can do to fix them. We do that, we can drain the lake, fish out the corpses, get the Chantry priest to lay 'em to rest properly. No dead bodies, no walkers. We can get the Inquisition to sort the rifts out later.”

“With the fort full of bandits in the way?” Borkul said, but that was something he could maybe deal with. Especially now Cicero was here, Cicero who'd taught himself the basics of healing magic so he could tend to scratched knees and bruised shins and wailing children who'd inherited his adventurous streak but not yet developed the skills to go about doing dangerous things properly. Sure, Borkul could let his wounds heal naturally… but when you knew Eola at all well, and had heard her talking about infectious agents and Namirene organisms and all the many ways a wound could turn gangrenous, you'd smack on a poultice or grab hold of a healer mage without a second thought.

“I bet I could sneak past,” Sera said confidently. “Good at fixing shit too. Not dwarf-good, but all right. Could see what was wrong anyway. If someone, you know, gave the bandits something else to think about.”

“There must be a back door,” Cicero murmured. “There is always a back door. Three big, burly men knocking on the front door, sweet Cicero sneaking in round the back. That will keep them occupied while nice Sera investigates the controls. And even if the controls are not fixable, if we clear out the keep, the villagers can seek safety in there.”

And so a plan was born. A hour later and Cicero was in a 'borrowed' boat, paddling round to the back of the fort with Sera, Sera picking the lock of the back gate for him (“Cicero is not very good at lockpicking, Cicero's wrists are very delicate, you see, they simply do not have the strength for such things.” “Yeah, you said, stop whining and get in there and stab something.”) then leaving him to it while she ran off to the dam's control house.

Cicero had a little difficulty with the spiders, but he did get an alchemical recipe for healing mist out of it, and then it was up to the main fort, and by that point, Borkul had kicked the front door in. Bandits really weren't very good at fortifying things, and they apparently didn't know what to do with real opposition either, because an hour later and the fort was cleared. The four men were sitting round a fire in one of the sheltered walkways when Sera finally turned up, seething.

“All right, Sera?” Blackwall said, surprised to see quite that level of fury. “Find out what happened to the controls?”

“Yeah,” Sera snapped. “There was _nothing_ wrong with them! No breakages, no corruption, _nothing!_ Darkspawn never even fucking got that far! Someone had shut the valves off. Deliberately! That was seriously all! All I had to do was grease the thing a bit, shove it round, curse it out a bit, but after that? Job done, dam open, lake draining right now.”

The storm had drowned out the noise, but once they listened, they could hear it. The sound of rushing water as the lake poured out through the dam's gates.

Shared looks and then delighted laughter as they realised it had worked. The fort was clear and the lake was draining.

“We did it!” Blackwall cheered. Borkul gave him a high-five and patted him on the back, then Cicero, then shook hands with Krem, then they all turned to Sera, who still looked furious.

“Mayor Dedrick said it was darkspawn broke those controls,” Sera said viciously. “Fucker looked shifty the whole time, I thought he was just scared of Cicero. But no, lying bastard knew what we'd find. It was him sealed the bloody dam in the first place.”

“We don't know that,” Blackwall said uncertainly, but they were all thinking it. Sera was probably right.

“We need evidence,” Krem said quietly. “I'm not going for an innocent man. But we'll talk to him, see if he confesses. If he comes along quietly, we'll hand him over to the authorities.”

If. Borkul saw the gleeful look in Cicero's eyes, and had a feeling Mayor Dedrick was going to get what was coming to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Chantry sister was happy to start organising a mass cremation once Old Crestwood's ruins were uncovered, and thanks to the three warriors hauling corpses out of the demon-haunted ruins, she was able to get started. The three of them killed a few demons as well while they were there, and once the corpses had been dealt with, the rest of the village started preparing to move into the now empty keep. Demons were still going to be a problem, with the rifts still open, but at least they could defend themselves now.

There was only one problem. The Mayor appeared to have vanished.

“What do you mean, he's gone?” Sera demanded. “I wanted a word with him!”

“We only wished to ask questions,” Cicero whined, wringing his hands. “Nothing more! He had nothing to fear from us!”

Somehow, hearing that from Cicero was the opposite of reassuring, but they were able to learn that Mayor Dedrick had grabbed his things and ridden out as soon as they'd left to clear the keep out. Going in to search his house revealed a note confessing everything, that he'd been the one to flood Old Crestwood during the Blight, killing the refugees they'd sheltered in the process.

“It says they had Blight-sickness,” Cicero murmured. “Do we believe this?”

“Some, yeah,” Sera growled. “Not all of them! Fuck him, Cicero. Seriously, fuck him. If I thought you could catch him, I'd send you after him.”

Cicero actually squeaked at that. “Sera means that?” he squealed, breathless. “Really??”

“Yeah – wait, you think you can track him?” Sera said, before seeing that grin and deciding she didn't want to know. “All right, don't say any more. I'll show this to the others and let that Sister Vaughn deal with the townsfolk. Someone'll need to sort an election out for a new mayor. You can catch us up on that demon horse of yours, right?”

“Of course!” Cicero cooed, helping himself to some bedding and discarded old clothes belonging to the Mayor. “Leave it to Cicero. Humble Cicero will ensure the Mayor's never a problem again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

First skipping out of town and stripping off, stuffing all gear into his specially designed for beast form pack. Next sniffing the clothes and getting a good idea of Dedrick's scent. And then it was beast form again, and sprinting across the landscape, easily picking up a trail even in this weather. That and the hoofprints. Dedrick really wasn't very good at this stealth thing, was he? Not a natural killer at all. Not like Cicero. This was why Thedas needed a Dark Brotherhood. A Dark Brother or Sister could have done the whole thing for him and he could have denied all knowledge. As it was, this Dark Brother was hunting him instead.

It wasn't long before he'd caught up, and sure, Cicero _could_ have just torn the horse down like a sabre cat chasing its prey. But Cicero had needs and Cicero wanted him to know why he was dying and who was killing him. Cicero probably wasn't getting paid for this one, so Cicero was taking his payment in other ways.

When his beast form ran out, Cicero swiftly dressed in his motley – far easier to get in and out of, and the rain had slackened off by this point. Fortunately, Dedrick's horse seemed tired, for the mayor had made camp up ahead. The sun was going down by this point too. Grinning, Cicero drew his daggers and crept forward. 

Dedrick had just got up to relieve himself when Cicero struck. Pinning him to a tree with one arm, knee up against him to pin him elsewhere, and the other hand holding a dagger to his throat, Cicero barely had to break a sweat.

“Hello Mayor Dedrick,” Cicero purred. “Cicero got your note.”

“Maker help me!” the mayor cried. “I'm sorry! I'll do anything! Please don't hurt me! I'm sorry, I swear!”

“Did the drowning villagers say that too, I wonder?” Cicero cooed, grinning as the guilt in the other man's eyes overshadowed terror. “It's a pity floodwaters don't listen to prayers, isn't it. But you knew that. Herded them all into one place, and killed them! _All of them!_ Cicero's very impressed. Cicero's never been able to do an entire village in one go.”

“Have mercy!” Dedrick pleaded. “Andraste forgive me, they had the Blight! There's no cure for the Blight! Better to make it quick!”

“They all had the Blight?” Cicero said sweetly. “All of them? Including little children clinging to a sick parent? Wives tending to ill husbands? How far would a party with everyone infected have got, Cicero wonders. Is it likely Blighted folk would have made it to Crestwood without their healthy kin's aid?”

Dedrick didn't answer, staring in terror at death come for him in a jester's motley, and suddenly Cicero felt liquid warmth on his leg. The man had lost control of his bladder in fright. Disgusted suddenly, Cicero grimaced and stepped away, letting Mehrunes Razor slit the man's throat, avoiding the bloodspray in the process. Some people just weren't worth the bother of torturing. Still, there were some small pleasures to be had. Fingering the Ring of Namira, Cicero hauled the body over to the fire and set to work. No witnesses and it had been ages since he'd had a good meal. About time he got _something_ out of this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero caught up with them in the early hours of the morning, crawling into Borkul's tent because apparently cuddling up next to a big Orc was far preferable to trying to erect his own tent in the dark.

“And you picked me. Not Blackwall. Not Krem. Not Sera. Me,” Borkul growled. “I'm so flattered.”

“Yes!” Cicero squeaked. “Only Cicero does not know Krem that well, and would prefer not to inconvenience Sera, and Bethany might become cross if Cicero were seen cuddling Blackwall.”

Bethany and Blackwall weren't officially a couple, not yet, but Blackwall had been helping her tend to the young apprentices, and the two had been spending a lot of time talking, and the two were definitely becoming friendly. Borkul couldn't exactly blame Cicero for not wanting to risk Bethany's wrath, although it said a lot about Cicero it was Bethany's reaction he worried about, and not Blackwall's more immediate objections.

“Fine, just keep your hands to yourself,” Borkul growled. “I find anything going on below my waist, you'll be sleeping in the ditch.”

Cicero squeaked but did as asked, and despite having a reputation for being a cuddler at best and borderline harasser at worst, he did actually behave himself and there was no groping, frotting or anything else objectionable. Thankfully. Cicero had definitely calmed down with age.

And so the next day saw them reach the Storm Coast. The Inquisition scouts were a bit surprised to see them, but the note and code phrases from Leliana saw them through, and Scout Harding was able to brief them on the area. Turned out it was cliffs, rain, high seas, oh, and bandits who'd been preying on the Inquisition. Nice. Borkul could do with the exercise. And Cicero apparently hadn't exhausted his bloodlust yet.

“Stabbing!” Cicero breathed, clasping his hands with delight, and Sera seemed a bit keen to sort these buggers out as well. And then Scout Harding told them some Tevinter mercenaries had been sighted nearby as well, but not to worry, there was a group of Orlesian fighters nearby also watching them.

“That'll be my lot,” Krem said, sounding rather proud of his mercenary band. “Come on, let's go introduce you. Down on the beach, you said?”

Borkul trailed behind, feeling suddenly nervous. It was one thing telling a bunch of humans he was a Tal-Vashoth, but if what Krem said was true, the leader of the Chargers was one. He'd know immediately Borkul wasn't.

“Cicero,” Borkul murmured. “Cicero, what if this Bull fellow reacts badly. I mean, he'll know, right? That I'm not Qunari. Or Vashoth. Or whatever they call themselves.”

“No doubt,” Cicero purred, smirking up at him, sidling over and nudging him in the side. “Do not worry. Cicero will look after you.”

Borkul had to grin at that, patting Cicero on the back and giving him a cuddle, and they made their way down to the beach.

The sound of fighting was audible from some way off, and Krem was already sprinting, Sera reaching for her bow, Blackwall also charging in, and as Borkul unshouldered Volendrung, Cicero was shooting into the sun, Auriel's Bow raining holy fire down on the scene and sending Tevinters running screaming.

Then the warriors hit and the fight began in earnest, and with five capable fighters joining the Chargers' side, the fight was shortly over. Leaving a motley crew of humans, elves and a dwarf getting their breath back and clearing up, Krem being welcomed back like a prodigal son, Sera and Blackwall both looking a bit awkward, Cicero dancing around doing his usual post-death capering… and Borkul was being stared down by the Chargers' leader, the Iron Bull himself.

Same height as Borkul. Broader shoulders though, and the muscles and scars were impressive. No tusks. Bull's face looked a lot more human than any Orc's, although the light grey skin and pointy ears were anything but. And then there were the horns. Now Borkul had a few small ones, many Orc men did. But no Orc Borkul had ever met had ever had horns like this. Great big thick ones jutting out from each side of his head, the ends deadly sharp and the whole thing looking like a tree branch had been glued to the guy's head. No wonder he was walking around half-naked.

The Iron Bull was looking Borkul over and clearly reaching similar conclusions.

“Hey. Krem. These the Inquisition?”

“That's right,” Krem said, sauntering over to make introductions. “We got Sera, Warden Blackwall, Cicero, and that's Borkul. He's Qunari like you.”

“Is he,” Iron Bull growled, folding his arms. “Did he actually say that? Say he was one of us?”

Krem looked a bit confused by the question.

“What do you mean, Chief? He's same height as you, built like a brick outhouse, he's even got horns, sorta,” Krem said, gesturing at Borkul, frowning. “What else could he be?”

“I don't know,” Bull said, unfolding his arms and circling round Borkul, and Borkul recognised an interrogator's stance when he saw it. “I'm keen to know what might look a bit Qunari but isn't. The horns, fine. The skin's a bit dark but there are Qunari with shades not far off that. But no one, and I mean no one, from Qunandar to Rivain, has _tusks!_ ”

Bull had circled right behind Borkul by this point and as he finished the sentence, he smacked a hand on to Borkul's upper back, the one good eye staring grimly into Borkul's.

“You may have the humans convinced you're one of us, or a Vashoth even,” Bull growled. “But you do not fool me. Now talk.”

Borkul glanced at Cicero, hoping for a hand here. No luck there. Cicero was staring adoringly up at Iron Bull, mouth open, eyes wide, making little keening sounds, and Borkul wearily realised Cicero's size kink had got the better of him and he'd be no help whatsoever.

“I'm with the Inquisition,” Borkul growled back at him. “The organisation whose attention you've been trying to get hold of, apparently. You done waving your dick around or can we get down to business?”

Borkul ignored Cicero's breathless little whimper of 'oh sweet Mother', and focused on this Iron Bull. Bull narrowed his eye, staring Borkul right back, and this really was turning into a dick measuring contest right here, wasn't it? Fortunately not a literal one, or Cicero would expire on the spot from sheer delight. As it is, he was lurking just on the edge of their vision, making excited little squeaking noises, and while Borkul was used to it and just tuned him out by this point, on the grounds that if you could see and hear him, you probably didn't actually need to worry, Iron Bull was not remotely used to a red-haired maniac in a jester's hat capering about at his elbow. He blinked first and then turned on Cicero.

“Are you Inquisition as well?” Bull demanded, before blinking again and looking Cicero over properly. Cicero for his part just beamed up at Bull, not having looked so pleased to see someone in a long time.

“Oh yes!” Cicero cooed. “Humble Cicero is a dear friend and loyal servant of the Lady Herald's! And happy to help in any capacity she desires! Cicero has heard the Iron Bull is of similar mind.”

Iron Bull looked at Cicero then back to Borkul, then cast his gaze over Blackwall and Sera, then back to Cicero.

“May I take it that seeing as I don't see any striking Avvar warrior-queens here, you didn't bring her with you,” Iron Bull said, seeming to soften a bit, or at least decide they probably were all on the same side. Cicero just stared back, wide-eyed.

“The Herald is a busy woman, sirrah Iron Bull,” Cicero said, spreading his hands and doing his best to look surprised he'd even asked. “She cannot be expected to attend to every request! She has important world-saving to do! Demons to kill! Nobles to woo! Rifts to seal! Important humanitarian efforts to carry out! Hiring mercenaries is not part of her job description.”

Iron Bull did laugh at that. “True enough, I hear she's got a military commander for that,” Bull said, grinning at Cicero. “So, my redhead friend, the Inquisition are willing to consider hiring us, are they?”

“Eventually,” Krem said. “Had the damnedest time getting to talk to anyone without the Herald around personally. And it may surprise you to know these four aren't technically Inquisition. Blackwall's a Grey Warden on secondment, Borkul and Cicero technically work for the Enchanter-General of the Mage Rebellion, although they also insist he and the Herald will be happy to work together. And Cicero apparently found Sera in Val Royeaux and she's never even been to Haven.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to join, like!” Sera insisted. “Cicero said he knew the all-touched Lady Herald, so I went with him. He's gonna introduce us.”

“Yes!” Cicero squealed, nodding in the affirmative. “Cicero already brings Sera to help. Cicero can bring Iron Bull as well.”

Bull glanced at Krem, who nodded.

“He knows way too much about both the Herald and the Enchanter-General to be completely talking out of his arse. And that Breach in the sky's going to need mages to fix it, chief.”

Bull didn't look entirely happy about this but couldn't rightly disagree either.

“All right,” he sighed. “We'll go with you to Haven. Finish up here and let's move. I can talk about this more with the Herald herself when we get there, right?”

Cicero squealed, watching with excitement as the Chargers began to clear up and get ready to move. Well, someone was happy at least. Borkul for his part knew that this wasn't over by a long shot. Iron Bull had correctly deduced Borkul was of a species not known to Thedas, and it wouldn't be long before the existence of Tamriel got out. True, Blackwall had taken it well, and the mages had been delighted to hear stories of an actual land where mages were free, and Borkul had a feeling more than a few might be heading back with their Enchanter-General after all this. But Thedas as a whole was frightened enough, and frightened people did stupid things. Borkul wasn't a politician but you couldn't guard the King in Rags for as long as he had and not start thinking in those sorts of terms. Thedas was going to start finding out about Tamriel, and Borkul had a feeling it wasn't going to end well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Elisif made her way into the Chantry, exhausted from riding all day, but determined to consult with her advisors before she collapsed into bed. Besides, Cassandra just plain didn't seem tired and Elisif didn't want to look soft by comparison. So she gritted her teeth and led the way.

Leliana emerged noiselessly from the shadows and beckoned her into the war room, where Cullen and Josephine were already waiting. All three looked tense and Elisif knew, she just knew, something was wrong.

“What happened?” Elisif said, quietly despairing. But nothing was on fire and everything was still in one piece so it couldn't be that bad, right?

Looks were exchanged, and then Cullen indicated for Josephine to speak. Josephine coughed nervously and stood up.

“Lady Elisif. Thank Andraste you are back, it is… that is, there have been developments… but we heard a little of what happened in Val Royeaux?”

“I had people there to watch, their reports got here ahead of you,” Leliana explained, hint of a smile on her face. “We heard the Chantry didn't do so well out of the whole affair. And that speech of yours was a nice touch. We've had quite a number of offers of help.”

“But none that would match the might of the Templars,” Cullen said, sounding wearied by the whole thing. “Did Lord Seeker Lucius really have one of his men hit Mother Hevara?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said, coming to stand next to Elisif. “While I cannot say Hevara has not had something like it coming for some time, Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember. I remember a moderate, a man who saw reason when needed, a man of caution who would respect his opponents even if he did not agree. The man we saw at Val Royeaux was none of those things.”

Cullen turned away in sorrow, rubbing his forehead, despairing quietly of his former order.

“There must be something we can do for them,” he said quietly. Elisif understood his pain, didn't like seeing him like this… but in all honesty, she knew she couldn't spare precious resources trying to save the Templars from themselves. Not when there was another alternative. Not when she could feel the Forsworn Bond of Matrimony in her head, tugging her north and east now, the Breach drowning it out but not enough not to feel it. 

“I'm sorry, Cullen,” Elisif said quietly. “I don't think they will help us. But Fiona of the mage rebellion was there. She's invited us to Redcliffe. I think we should take her up on it.”

Cullen sighed, both hands on the table, not liking this but clearly not willing to argue either.

“If that's what you want,” Cullen sighed. “I just wish… Maker, I wish it didn't feel like we were abandoning them to their doom.”

Elisif could wish there'd been a way to bring everyone on board too, but if she had to choose, she'd choose the faction that might just have her husband _(but he couldn't be here, surely not, she wouldn't let herself believe without proof)._

“I know,” Elisif said. “I wish there was a way, but the Templars aren't willing to even pay us the most basic courtesies. If they see sense and overthrow the Lord Seeker...”

“They never will,” Cullen said bitterly. “Individuals might leave, Templars and Seekers who were out in the field and haven't had the orders yet might decide to try their luck here instead, but they won't revolt. The chain of command is too ingrained.”

Elisif would expect no less. Soldiers weren't known for independent thought after all. It wasn't always a good thing. But mages now… mages were known for being creative. It could make them a pain to work with… or it could bring unexpected benefits.

“Then we can't go running to them,” Elisif decided. “Not until we've seen what Fiona's offering. She was actually friendly. I think I could work with her. Also she said she had something of mine. I want to know what she's planning.”

Silence round the table, Cullen seeming to give up or at least not argue, while Leliana and Josephine were exchanging glances and Leliana in particular seemed to be nudging Josephine.

“What?” Elisif asked, remembering they'd mentioned developments. “What happened?”

“The mage rebellion sent envoys here as well,” Leliana said, starting to smile. “We're not sure how they did it but it appears they know more of us than we thought. Specifically, someone has been feeding them details of you, and now a certain Enchanter-General has written with… we're not sure. His envoy was adamant the Enchanter-General wanted to speak to you and only to you. It was only thanks to Josephine's charm we were even able to persuade him to leave the letter with her. As it is, it's magically sealed. We were told it would curse anyone who tried to open it who wasn't you.”

“It's here,” Josephine said softly, producing an envelope with a glowing seal on the back, and Elisif could feel it. She knew. Madanach's rune seal, his personal rune seal, keyed against tampering as his letters always were, as his love letters to her in their engagement had been… and he'd seen no reason to change the magic.

“Borkul said it was something called Reach-magic, but you'd know it,” Josephine was saying, but Elisif barely heard her. She took the letter, placed a thumb to the seal, ignored Leliana's gasp as the seal that had defied the Inquisition's mages disappeared at Elisif's touch, and scanned the contents.

“What is it?” Cassandra was saying, frowning over her shoulder. “I can't read that, what does it say – Elisif? Elisif, what language is that? I don't even recognise it.”

Elisif couldn't speak. All she could do was read it and keep reading it as she stared at the familiar handwriting, handwriting she never thought she'd see again, as the writer had predicted all too well. Madanach, alive and well. Madanach healed. Flemeth having kept her word. Madanach not only well, but here! Here in Thedas, with the mage rebellion, and Fiona had made him _Enchanter-General!!_ He'd been running the mage rebellion's military arm, a twin prong of hammering their enemies and assisting potential allies.

Elisif knew she'd recognised those tactics. She knew it had all reminded her of the Forsworn. She'd known… she just hadn't let herself believe it. The disappointment would have been too much, but she had proof now. Madanach was here and waiting for her to find him.

“Elisif!” Cassandra was crying, arm round Elisif's shoulders. “Elisif, talk to me. What did he say? Why are you crying? Elisif??”

Elisif could barely see, her vision blurring as the tears rolled down her cheeks and she couldn't stop. She couldn't hold the emotion in any more, heedless of Cullen looking vaguely horrified, and Josephine approaching on her other side and quietly wanting to know if she was all right, and Leliana… Leliana smiling wistfully and Elisif realised her advisors knew somehow. But she owed them all confirmation, and Cassandra would have no idea. Smiling through the tears, Elisif turned to Cassandra.

“It's my husband,” Elisif gasped. “Kyne kept her word and healed him! And – and he came to find me. He's come all the way from Tamriel, because he's a mage from a whole family of them, and they can get kinfinders and portal magic to work, so he managed to get nearby-ish… and he joined the rebel mages and they made him Enchanter-General. Because he's a king back home, he had an army. Of – of mages.”

“Oh sweet Maker,” Cullen could be heard to say, but thankfully Elisif was in too good a mood to snap at him.

“Your husband… the whole reason you came here… he followed you,” Cassandra breathed, stunned. Elisif nodded, unsure how Cassandra was going to react to this. The former Seeker wasn't the most mage-friendly person around but she wasn't a blind fanatic either. So Elisif opted for the straightforward truth.

“Yes,” Elisif whispered. “So – so the Inquisition's siding with the mage rebellion, because my husband can help us. He's going to help us seal the Breach.”

She looked around, expecting to have to fight this one every step of the way, but Josephine was nodding and saying “very good, Your Worship”, and Leliana was grinning, and even Cullen wasn't arguing, just saying something to Josephine about needing to sort a lyrium supply out. That could actually have gone worse, and the one who'd been most likely to oppose seemed to have given in. That just left Cassandra… who was looking pale and shaky with a hand to her mouth, and honestly Elisif was starting to feel a bit concerned.

“Are you all right?” Elisif asked, wondering if she'd been worried about the wrong person's opposition. Cassandra nodded, and then the uptight battle-hardened Seeker turned Elisif's preconceptions completely on their head.

“He came all this way to find you,” Cassandra breathed, sounding like she was about to cry herself and Elisif nodded, confused but smiling, just smiling, completely unable to stop, and Cassandra was looking rather emotional herself.

“That is the most romantic thing I've ever heard,” Cassandra gasped tearfully, and the next thing Elisif knew, she was being hugged by Cassandra. Which was unexpected but Elisif didn't care. Both women were laughing and hugging and when Cassandra let her go, they both had tears on their cheeks.

“Of course we'll find him,” Cassandra promised. “I'm not… I'm not a natural supporter of the rebellion, you know that… but they had cause, and if you have leverage over their military commander, then it might not be such a terrible idea. You have my support.”

Elisif gasped, face lighting up and it was fortunate for Elisif that Cassandra was not into women, because that smile had once convinced a Forsworn warlord to side with the future High Queen of Skyrim, and Cassandra had just been hit with it full force.

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered. “Thank you!”

She beamed round at the entire table, too excited to take in the fact that all three advisors had gone a bit pink, Cullen nervously scratching his neck, Josephine hastily glancing away and even Leliana coughing quietly and making an effort to compose herself. But Leliana was too cynical to be easily put off by a pretty face.

“I'll start preparing a scouting party to send to Redcliffe,” Leliana promised. “Josie here will provide some diplomats to open negotiations, won't you, Josie?”

“Absolutely,” Josephine promised. “Don't worry, Herald. We'll start planning immediately.”

Elisif squealed and thanked them, exhaustion starting to kick in. Time to rest, or at least eat – maybe go to the tavern? Or find Varric. Yes! Varric! He'd definitely want to hear all about this. And so Elisif ran to find her favourite dwarf, eager to share this update with him, finally feeling like things were going to be all right. 

She had no idea what was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is the In Hushed Whispers storyline. Which I have... fleshed out and played about with a little. I had a lot of fun with it, apart from the parts where I traumatised myself. I think you will like it. :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mage rebellion's not the safe haven Madanach imagined, in fact it's dangerous to talk too loud or attract attention or tell anyone who you really are. So why is Maia convinced this is not what was supposed to happen, and jeopardising everything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this is where things get dangerous! It's In Hushed Whispers time, except seeing as things are already different, I felt a different approach was called for. Warnings for one traumatised little girl in this as the world falls apart around her.

Maia woke from dreams of dragons, as she often did. She'd had them at home too, dreaming of flying over Skyrim, wind in her face, golden wings outstretched, soaring round the mountains and over the Aalto to Windhelm, once her father's city for a few months. She'd never been but she'd heard about it a lot. Of course, since coming to Thedas, she was dreaming of Ferelden too, and not just flying either! She was Princess Maia, Mascot of the Mage Rebellion, and she didn't just fly, she swooped down and breathed fire and people fled before her, wearing Penitus Oculatus or Templar gear, and she'd bite them and eat them with a crunch! That would teach them to take her away or wave a sword at her or hurt Daddy.

Maia had a feeling Mama would not approve of these particular dreams, but she'd told her father, who'd looked a bit surprised and slightly alarmed but told her not to worry, her mother had had dreams like that when she first became Dragonborn too, mainly dreams of killing and eating Jarl Ulfric and burning his city. Which had sort of come true when Mama had met Daddy and been able to borrow his army. 

“Am I going to be burning and eating Templars then?” Maia had asked nervously, not sure she was ready to _actually_ do that. She didn't actually have claws or big teeth or wings after all.

“Gods, I hope not!” her father had laughed. “I'm hoping we can keep them far away from you.”

Maia had felt simultaneously disappointed and relieved at that one. And then she'd told Eola as well who'd been delighted and made her share all the details. Eola was the best sister ever.

Maia turned over, reaching out and opening her eyes to see if Daddy was awake yet. Children's beds were at a bit of a premium, so Daddy had decided she was going to share a bedroom with him instead, which meant tucking her up in the double bed every night. Daddy had had Borkul and Blackwall push it up against the corner so Maia wouldn't fall out in the night and Maia would sleep safely between the wall on one side and Daddy on the other, and while it wasn't quite the same as being able to wake up and cuddle Mama in the morning, it was still nice. Daddy's chest hair was fuzzy and Maia liked running her fingers through it. Daddy didn't seem to mind, and he'd generally answer her questions, from “am I going to have chest hair when I grow up?” (unlikely unless she was really a little boy and no one had realised yet, to which Maia had responded with an indignant “but I'm a girl!” which had made him laugh and say “yes you are”) to “what if Templars come to Tamriel as well and make us have Circles?” (Daddy's response had been an emphatic no to that one, and Maia had a feeling he'd been about to say some Bad Words, but he'd calmed down and told her the Nords had started a civil war over losing one god, they wouldn't want to lose the other Eight as well and Maia had felt better after hearing that.)

All in all, this was Maia's favourite time of the day, lying in bed while it was all still quiet, cuddling Daddy and getting to talk to him about all sorts of things, and he'd listen and talk back and it was nice to have his attention and be listened to. Maybe he was busy doing important things like run the mage rebellion, but these quiet hours when she had him all to herself, these were the best.

So Maia opened her eyes, smile on her face, reaching out… and he wasn't there. She wasn't in his room. This was the apprentices' room, and she was in a double bed with Suzette and Lucy, with Bethany fast asleep on a bedroll in one corner, Liriel in the other, and Gerard in a child's bed next to them.

“Daddy?” Maia whispered, sitting up and staring about her. He hadn't put her to bed in here. He'd tucked her up in his bed. So why was she here?

Swinging her feet off the bed, Maia dropped to the floor, wondering if she could sneak upstairs to her father's room, but the movement woke Suzette and Lucy up, Suzette glaring at her and Lucy blinking in the sunlight.

“Where are you going?” Suzette asked, frowning. “You know we're not allowed out before the grownups are up.”

“I'm going to find Daddy,” Maia whispered, not sure just when Suzette had got so mean. Yes, she'd been a bit jealous of Maia getting to go out and seal rifts, but not so much after that one time a despair demon had hit her with an ice spike and Maia had had to be carried home. Maia's ward had taken some of the damage, and apparently the combination of Nord blood on one side and Reachman on the other had also meant no serious harm had been done. All the same, apparently seeing her actually injured had increased the apprentice mages' respect immensely, and they'd all started treating her like some sort of hero.

Apparently not any more.

“You don't have a Daddy,” Suzette said primly. “You're in here with us, being an apprentice Circle mage from Kirkwall, remember?”

Maia remembered no such thing. Maia remembered lots of younger mages stopping by to idly ask about Tamriel and Skyrim, and Maia had told them no, there were no Circles or Templars, everyone worshipped the Eight and magic was a gift, not a curse, and her mama was High Queen and would never let them take children away from their mamas and papas.

Maia did not remember having to hide anything. Fortunately Bethany was now stirring, woken by all the noise.

“Maia? What are you doing out of bed?” Bethany asked, frowning. “It's early yet.”

“I – I wanted Daddy,” Maia whispered, confused and tearful. Where was he?? He rarely left her alone for long, not unless Eola was there to keep an eye on her, and never during the night.

Bethany looked sympathetic and she came over to give Maia a cuddle.

“Maybe you can see him later,” Bethany whispered. “He's usually free in the afternoons. But hush now. You can't let anyone know he's your father. It isn't safe.”

Not safe?? But why? Maia didn't understand. So she ran to Liriel's side, hoping the elf would be able to help. Liriel had always been kind before and she didn't put up with anyone ordering her about. She'd help, right?

“Liriel!” Maia cried, shoving the elf awake. Liriel started up, heart racing, golden eyes darting about before focusing on Maia.

“Maia?” Liriel said sleepily. “What – what's up? Gods, I feel so strange. I was dreaming… what was I dreaming??”

“Liriel, I shouldn't be here! I was with Daddy, but Bethany and Suzette are saying I don't have one and I have to pretend he's not Daddy!” Maia wailed. “But it's not true, it's not, it's NOT!”

The entire room shook with that and flames suddenly starting licking up the side of the wall, which concentrated both Bethany and Liriel's attention remarkably. Several ice spells later, and the fire was out, although the scorchmarks were going to take some fixing.

“We'll be painting over that later, won't we?” Liriel sighed. “How marvellous. I do so love the smell of wet paint.”

“Maia, you need to get better at controlling your magic,” Bethany said firmly. “You need to keep quiet and stay out of sight so no one realises you're special!”

Maia turned to Liriel, desperate to hear otherwise. But her favourite High Elf just shook her head.

“We can't, da'linna,” Liriel said softly. “It isn't safe. I have to hide so he doesn't know who – what - I am, and you need to be ordinary. We can't let him know about… you know. Home.”

“But… but I don't understand,” Maia whispered, truly not understanding how Liriel of all people had gone from telling everyone she was a High Elf and bloodline descendant of Auriel the Maker himself, to willingly hiding. “You're one of the best mages in the Reach, and you already told everyone who you are!”

“I never did, da'linna,” Liriel said, frowning. “Although… why does that seem wrong?”

“Because it is!” Maia cried, feeling her magic perilously close to getting out of hand again. “You don't hide from anyone! And Daddy wouldn't leave me! This isn't right! This isn't what's supposed to happen!”

“Maia...” Liriel sighed. “I know it's not ideal, but we have _no choice!_ Do you honestly think I'd be lurking in here if I did?”

“You don't lurk,” Maia whispered. “You never lurk! Or… or hide! This isn't right, everything is _wrong,_ and no one will tell me why!!”

The cover on one of the beds started to smoulder, and it was only quick action from Bethany that stopped another fire breaking out.

“It's _because_ of the magister,” Bethany said firmly. “From Tevinter. We – we can't let him know you're special. Or he might take you away and hurt you. He might take Liriel away and hurt her too if he knew she was here. So you're just another apprentice, right? Here, let me brush your hair. We need to get you presentable and then, young lady, I think you need more exercises in magical control.”

Tevinter?? Wasn't that the scary empire run by mages? But what had that got to do with the mage rebellion?

Maia didn't know, but she knew Daddy would tell her. He always told her everything. She just needed to find him and talk to him. He'd make everything right. So she submitted to Bethany's ministrations and eventually followed her out to the inn's main bar. She could already hear his voice arguing with someone.

“For Si- Andraste's sake, man, we already told you, Eola's doing all she can to research the Blight, but she's not an expert!”

“I literally started work on this three weeks ago, you can't possibly expect-”

A male voice with an accent a little like Cicero's cut across the pair of them, softly-spoken but menacing, and Maia stopped in her tracks, standing in the shadow of the bar, because her father and sister had just stopped talking, silently giving away as this new mage spoke, and his magicka was practically hissing around him, filling the room like a dragon's breathing. He was a match for her father, and Maia hadn't thought she'd ever see that. He was dressed in robes of a style she'd not seen before, with a red hood with points, dark eyes, hair peppered with grey and a face pockmarked with old age, and he was successfully staring down her sister.

“What I expect is for your research to actually show the fruits I was promised,” the mage snarled. “I was told you were an expert on darkspawn, that you had dissected one and were testing darkspawn flesh and blood. Well?”

“I'm doing experiments!” Eola protested. “But I've not been running them long, you can't expect me to have a cure for the Blight already!”

The mage stepped forward, glaring at her, staring her down.

“ _Find_ one,” he growled. “Or I might decide that perhaps the Tevinter Imperium won't find you useful after all, you _or_ your senior enchanter 'friend' here.”

Madanach's fingers flexed and his own magicka flared just briefly and Maia realised what had scared her the most. She couldn't feel his magic. He wasn't displaying _any_ of it. Since getting healed, he'd not really locked his magic down at all – controlled, yes, but always on display, a warning to others but to Maia, a sign of protection and safety that wrapped around her like a big furry blanket. It wasn't wrapping round her today.

“No, you can't hurt them!” Maia cried, breaking away from Bethany and racing over to cling on to her father's robes – he was wearing Circle robes, why was he wearing Circle robes?? He preferred kilt and boots, and tops that left his skin room to breathe. He'd not braided his hair either, just brushed it out loose, just as Eola had scrubbed her warpaint off. What was going on??

“Maia, what the...” Madanach gasped, then his expression turned to anger as he grabbed her hands and shoved her away. “Apprentice, get back to Bethany, can't you see we're busy??”

Maia staggered back, staring up at him and feeling tears prickling at her eyes. But Daddy never pushed her away, only occasionally if she'd pounced on him too hard or if he was in the middle of something delicate, and he never shouted her at her unless she was in trouble and even then not for long. Not… not like this.

“Daddy?” she whispered, and his face flushed with fury.

“ _Maia,_ ” he growled. “It's Enchanter Madanach to you. I won't tell you twice. Go. To. Your. Room. Bethany, get her out of here.”

Bethany made to pick her up but Maia shoved her away. Enchanter Madanach?? But she wasn't to call him that! She was his little girl, he'd always said so!

“Noooo!” Maia wailed. “No, Daddy, no, this isn't right! This wasn't what happened, you were Enchanter-Gen'ral, we were going to find Mama, Fiona said so, _Daddy!_ ”

Maia was howling by this point even as Bethany began to drag her away, and the tiny Dragonborn's Thu'um was already starting to rattle the glassware behind the bar, and even Clemence the Tranquil was looking a bit alarmed. Fiona, who'd been standing back in the corner, nothing like the unquestioned leader Maia remembered, started forward.

“Magister Alexius,” Fiona began. “Don't mind her, she's just a girl, formed something of an attachment to the older enchanters...”

Magister Alexius's eyes had fallen on Maia, surprise on his face, surprise and no little amount of interest.

“Indeed,” Alexius murmured, wonder in his voice as he stepped forward, and Maia finally subsided as she realised this man was scarier than Keirine, in fact Maia realised Keirine wasn't scary at all, Keirine was kind if a bit impatient, and her magic was dangerous, but she would never hurt Maia. Maia wasn't at all sure the same was true of this magister. Helpless, she glanced at her father, who was glaring furiously at Alexius, hand outstretched and Maia could see the window behind him already starting to frost over. Maia didn't know if that was good or not, it only happened when her father was _really_ angry, or so they said. She'd never seen it before.

Maybe it would hurt Alexius. Like that despair demon that had shot an ice spike at her and at the mere sound of Maia's wails, Daddy had recast his mage armour, knocked back a magicka potion, cast flame cloak and then descended on the unfortunate demon with a roar worthy of a dragon and fire _everywhere_ and reduced it to a little pile of smoking ash. Was he going to do the same to Alexius? Maia hoped so, even if she didn't really want to see it up close.

But Madanach did nothing, and it was one of the Tevinters, a young man in yellow, who actually distracted Alexius by stepping forward, suddenly stopping near Eola and then collapsing dramatically into her arms, crying out as he did so.

Alexius whirled round, alarmed, and all the fight went out of him as he ran to the young man's side.

“Felix,” Alexius gasped, horrified. “Felix, are you all right?”

“Yes, I...” Felix gasped, breathing heavily. “I think I need to rest. I just felt faint for a second.”

“I'll get you back to the castle, come on,” Alexius told him, helping him up and motioning for his guards to help out. He barely spared another word for the inn as the party of Tevinters prepared to leave, only glancing coldly back at Eola.

“Find. A. Cure,” Alexius said viciously, before sweeping out, leaving a roomful of stunned mages behind them. There was a few seconds before everyone started talking at once, and an awful lot of people were staring at Maia. At least until Madanach glared back, and that at least stopped the whispering.

“Bethany, we really need to have a word about how you're raising the apprentices, come with me, and bring this one,” Madanach snapped, indicating for Bethany to follow. “Eola, join us when you have time.”

Eola seemed to be sliding a piece of paper into her pocket, but she collected herself soon enough.

“Of course, Enchanter,” Eola said smoothly, Circle robes swishing as she followed after Madanach.

Bethany picked Maia up and very swiftly carried her out of the room, not saying a word and seeming heedless of the tears still trailing down Maia's face. Maia looked up at her father, desperate for some sign of recognition, a kiss on the cheek, a smile, anything, but he wasn't even looking her way. He was staring at his feet, and he looked tired and unhappy and… he looked a bit like he had when he was sick.

Maia clung to Bethany, terrified like she'd not been even when there'd been monsters attacking, like demons and Templars. Daddy had been there then. Daddy loved her dearly, she knew that. This man with her father's face… she didn't think it was Daddy any more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Bethany had carried her up to the room Maia had previously shared with her father, and Maia had felt a bit comforted by that at least… but not when they came in and Maia realised the war table was gone. But how was Daddy going to command the MageGuard without it?

Maia had a horrible feeling there was no MageGuard any more. Had she dreamed the whole thing? But she hadn't, she was sure of it, she definitely hadn't dreamed the ice spike! That had left bruises all over her chest where it had hit! It must have been real! 

And yet here was Bethany setting her down and sitting on the bed and her father sitting on her other side looking utterly defeated, and then Eola walking in with a letter in her hand and a frown on her face as she closed the door behind her and as an afterthought, summoned the chair over and used it to wedge the thing shut. Madanach nodded, approving, before casting a muffle spell over the door for good measure.

Maia didn't say anything. She couldn't. She was in trouble and she didn't even know why or how, only that everything was wrong and this wasn't how it was meant to be, and last night Daddy had tucked her into bed with a kiss and a smile and a promise Mama would soon be on the way, and now he was barely looking at her.

“I'm sorry,” Maia whispered, not sure what else to say. “I'm sorry, Daddy.”

Madanach actually flinched.

“Don't, cariad, it just makes it worse,” Madanach said softly, in Tamrielic, and Maia felt her heart skip as she realised he was still in there somewhere, she'd not lost him entirely, but what was wrong then? Was it her fault? Maia had a horrible feeling it was her fault.

“Daddy?” Maia whispered, and Madanach growled irritably and got up, beginning to pace, and beside her, Maia felt Bethany shiver as the room began to get just that bit colder, condensation already forming on the mirror.

“Maia, we talked about this!” Madanach snapped. “We agreed it was safer for you if Alexius didn't know we were kin, if you just hid with the other apprentices. And you… you agreed...” Madanach stopped, suddenly looking unsure and uncertain like Maia hadn't seen since he got healed.

“Why can't I remember what you said back?” Madanach whispered, staring into space and looking terrified. “Eola? Eola, you were there too, weren't you?”

Eola left the door and went to him, placing her hands on his shoulders, and then when he didn't resist, drawing him into a hug. Madanach shuddered before taking Eola into his arms, and it took Maia a moment to realise her father was crying.

“Why can't I remember?” Madanach was saying, clinging on to Eola. “Why can't I – this is how it started last time, Eola. Is it wearing off? Am I – am I getting sick again?”

Eola cried “No!” at the same time as Maia's heart finally broke and she burst into tears, sobbing her heart out as she realised she couldn't do it, she couldn't watch Daddy go back to how he had been, it was one thing when she barely remembered anything else, but not now. Not now he'd held her, loved her, talked to her, praised her magic, helped improve her reading, helped her practice her Thedosian, been there and been amazing and she'd got to see him fight monsters! And run the Mage Guard, just like he had the Forsworn all those years and Maia had found the whole thing _fascinating._

She couldn't lose him again. She just couldn't. Except he'd let Eola go and was staring at her, not angry, she didn't think, but… upset? Confused? Maia wasn't really old enough to recognise guilt when she saw it, not on her adored father's face. But Madanach was feeling it, and in the end it won.

“I can't do this,” Madanach whispered, letting Eola go and striding over to Maia, dropping to her knees and taking her into his arms. “Maia, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't cry, cariad. Of course I love you, of course you're mine, of course you are. Of course you are.”

Madanach's voice had softened as he held her, and Maia clung on to him, sobbing into his robes, confused and unhappy and heartbroken, but he was here. He still loved her, and Maia could forgive him that at least. But it didn't fix the world.

“Daddy,” Maia whispered. “Daddy, everything's wrong!”

“I know,” Madanach said softly, picking her up and pulling her onto his lap as he sat on the bed. “I know, love.”

“Make it stop!” Maia sobbed. “Make it go back to what it was! You were Enchanter-Genril, Daddy!”

Madanach stopped stroking her hair and looked confused.

“I was never Enchanter-General, little one,” Madanach said, looking a bit wistful. “I'm not sure there is such a thing, Bethany?”

Bethany, whose attention had been wandering, looked up, startled. 

“Hmm? What was that? Madanach, if you want my opinion, you need to speak in Thedosian. I've no idea what you were telling her. Or Eola, for that matter.”

Madanach sighed and swiftly recapped.

“I know I spoke to Maia and told her she had to hide with the apprentices, and I did that after we first got here and realised the mage rebellion had been taken over by Tevinter magisters who were up to no good,” Madanach said, frowning. 

“But you didn't!” Maia wailed. “Fiona said she needed an army, so you said you'd get her one and you did! We were the MageGuard and we helped people!”

“Maia,” Madanach said firmly. “Hush. I need to think. I remember telling Maia this, but I don't… I don't remember what she said to me. And… this was weeks ago, but we didn't manage to keep it secret in one morning today. Maia's heartbroken by the rejection and I… I can't do it, Bethany. I can't just ignore her! She's my baby.”

Madanach cuddled Maia as he said this, planting a kiss on her forehead without really thinking about it, and Maia snuggled into him, finally starting to calm down a bit. The world was going awry but she still had Daddy. That was something.

“When I got sick before, I started forgetting things. Started losing my memory,” Madanach said softly. “I don't want… I can't… we're miles from home and if I get sick, who cares for Maia?”

Bethany let out a little gasp, but before she could say anything, the door flung open and Liriel strode in, quietly seething as she secured the door behind her.

“Madanach, _why_ are we hiding? Specifically, why am I, a mage of no little experience, battle-trained by the Aldmeri armies and holding a Masters degree in Thaumatological Research from the University of Alinor, reduced to lurking in a dormitory with the children while that wretched human from Tevinter lords it over us?? Are you or are you not the best battlemage in the Reach, and are you or are you not the feared King in Rags who once led a revolution not once but twice?”

Madanach didn't meet her eyes, massaging his forehead and looking like he was about to cry, and Liriel realised perhaps a bit too late that he'd been all that… but also been an old, sick man barely capable of even feeding himself.

“I don't know,” Madanach whispered, bereft. “I don't know why we're hiding, I don't _know_ why we're not fighting back, I don't….! Dammit, Liriel, just leave me be!”

Madanach had his head in his hands, and Liriel subsided, standing guiltily back as Maia plucked at his sleeve and Eola went to him again, kneeling by this side, one hand on his leg.

“Liriel, don't shout at him, it's not his fault,” Eola said firmly, barely sparing her a glance, and Liriel, despite having been raised by elven supremacists, was actually possessed of a good heart and sense of decency and guiltily whispered an apology before backing off. Eola turned back to her father.

“I don't entirely know what is going on,” Eola continued, “but I do know one thing. It's not just you. You're not getting sick. There are things I don't understand or remember either. Because Cicero isn't here! He was with us when we arrived but he's not here now. He's miles to the north. And he's worried. He's freaking out and he's heading south. But why did he go in the first place? And I haven't seen Borkul around either! Are you seriously telling me they'd just disappear and we wouldn't remember? That Cicero would just up and leave me?? He's worried and he's coming back, and if he was worried, he'd never have left! He didn't even really want to come, he was distraught at leaving the kids but he came because he knew they'd be safe but I might not be! He wouldn't… he wouldn't just leave me, not when he came for my sake, he always leaves a note, he likes having someone knowing where he is and thinking about him. He wouldn't do this! And why would you send your bodyguard away?? You can't tell me we don't need him!”

Madanach closed his eyes as if in pain.

“I know!” he snapped. “I don't know… I don't know where they are.”

Maia tightened her grip on her father, whispering “Daddy!”, wanting to tell him but he'd said to be quiet, and would he even listen? She wasn't sure any more… but Bethany had no such compunctions.

“Well, I don't know where Blackwall went either. He was that Warden with you. I remember him bringing us here, and he seemed nice, but he… I don't remember where he went after we came to Redcliffe, I assumed he left us here and went back to the Wardens, or wherever you found him… so why do I miss him?” Bethany's voice faltered for a few moments before she pulled herself together, looking up and glaring at Madanach. 

“I want to know why I miss a man I only spoke to for a few hours,” Bethany said firmly. “So rather than sitting around pitying ourselves, why don't we ask the one who actually remembers differently. Maia? Can you tell me…” Bethany paused, carefully working out how to phrase this one and acutely aware of Madanach's eyes narrowing… but fortunately Bethany had been dealing with young apprentices for years and given sex education talks and been the one they confided their troubles in and nursed many broken hearts back together in her time.

“Maia, did I spend a lot of time with him?” Bethany asked. “Just with him? Did we hold hands a lot or cuddle?”

Maia stared back, wide-eyed and a bit confused and then the penny dropped and she started giggling.

“Oh! You want to know if he was your boyfriend!” Maia giggled, sly grin on her face, and Madanach was grimacing and muttering “sweet gods” under his breath even as Bethany began to blush.

“Don't tease her!” Madanach sighed. “Just answer the question. Were they… friendly?”

Maia giggled and nodded, before hesitating and shaking her head, before shrugging.

“I think so?” Maia said, looking a bit confused. “You were always talking with him. And you and Blackwall took us on a picnic once! Daddy went too, he said he was being a shapper-own, but he mostly lay on the grass reading. And Blackwall would often stand in your bedroom door and talk to you while we were all going to bed and once you and he almost kissed! But Blackwall stopped and said no, it wasn't a good idea, and that was when Daddy found me and made me go to bed. He said I should give you some pry-vacy. I don't know what happened after that but you were sad the next day. And when he left with Borkul, you gave him a cuddle and he promised he'd come back. But he hasn't...”

“Oh,” Bethany whispered, not sure what to make of this, heartbroken all of a sudden over a relationship she couldn't even remember, and suddenly she felt angry, just furious at whoever had done this, whoever had wrecked time somehow (although she knew who, they all did, it wasn't exactly a stretch) and robbed her of an entire friendship, maybe even courtship. Tears in her eyes, she whispered a thank you to Maia and turned away before something burst into flames or shattered or went flying.

“Borkul and Blackwall left – where and why?” Eola was now saying, kneeling next to Maia and taking her hand. “And… did Cicero go with them?”

Maia shook her head.

“No, he'd already left,” Maia whispered. “Cicero went to Val-royo with Fiona to see the Herald of Andrasty, but she came back with a teleportal charm Daddy gave her and Cicero was going to follow later. That's when Borkul and Blackwall left, you sent them to the Ink-wi-zi-shun at Haven. To take a letter and get their help with the Rifts.”

“The Inquisition?” Eola whispered, surprised. Very little news had come in about the mysterious Inquisition, only that it was some army working with the Chantry, or inspired by it, with this mysterious spiritual leader called the Herald of Andraste, based in the ruins of the Conclave. The Herald's position on mages was unknown, but the Chosen of Andraste, some Templar-esque holy warrior by all accounts, wasn't likely to regard the rebel mages as anything other than heretics to be crushed.

“Val Royeaux?” Madanach murmured. He'd heard the fabled Herald had gone there for some reason, but Fiona hadn't left here. It didn't make sense… and yet it made more sense that Fiona might go and spy out the Herald than sign her entire rebellion over to the Tevinters as indentured servants, or indeed that Madanach would have stuck around on learning this. Why hadn't he snuck out with Eola and Maia already, and why send Borkul away?? None of this made any sense. But it had got to the stage where he was almost ready to beg the Herald for help, or at least flee to Haven with his girls, deny any involvement with Tevinter, and offer his services to the Inquisition as long as they respected his need to care for Maia and didn't send both him and Eola away at the same time. It was possible he'd sent Blackwall and Borkul off to get help and raise the alarm… but he didn't remember this, and honestly, he'd have been more likely to send Cicero to Haven. Or better, send Cicero into Redcliffe Castle on the quiet so Magister Alexius could have a tragic accident.

Why he'd just sat here passively and accepted his fate confused him no end. What exactly was going on, and why did Maia seem to remember a whole other timeline in which none of this happened? What was going on?

That Magister Alexius had done something was beyond dispute, but why?

“What is Alexius playing at,” Madanach growled. “What has he done? According to Maia, when we came here, Alexius wasn't here, Fiona was in charge, everything was different, I had a place of status in this rebellion. But now Alexius is here, we're all indentured to him, and all our memories say it's been like this since before we arrived… but our memories have gaps we can't explain. Apart from Maia who remembers a different timeline and hers makes sense, far more sense. Has he managed to rewrite time??”

“Evidently,” Bethany said softly, eyes not leaving Maia. “And our memories are rewriting themselves… but not Maia's. Because you're just a kid? No, the other apprentices don't remember either. So why...”

Madanach and Eola's eyes met as father and daughter realised as one what marked their little witchlet out as special. Dragons were said to be uniquely attuned to the flows of time… and would surely know if it had been meddled with.

“ _Dragonborn,_ ” they breathed, and Madanach's eyes had lit up as he cuddled his little girl, hope finally rearing its head.

“Dragonborn?” Liriel whispered. “That makes a difference? Oh, maybe! Because dragons are children of Akatosh, time works differently for them… and Alexius's time magic hasn't affected her! You remember what was!”

“You remember what was,” Madanach breathed, but his face fell as soon as he grasped the implications. “And you virtually said as much to our Magister friend earlier. He won't know why but he'll want to find out. Sithis, Maia, we need to get you out of here.”

“And go where,” Eola snapped. “How many places are going to take in mages when the entire continent's been taught to hate them??”

“Mama!” Maia cried, unable to hold it in any longer. “We need to find Mama!”

“I know that, cariad, that's the whole reason we're here!” Madanach sighed, frustrated. “But we don't know where she is!”

“She's in Haven!” Maia cried. “You wrote her a letter! You sent Borkul and Blackwall to bring her here after Fiona realised where she was and told us! Daddy, Mama's the Herald of Andrasty! She's with the Inkwi-sishun!”

Silence as all three adults stared down at her and Maia began to tremble all over as she felt tears or rage or _something_ building, and she wanted Mama, she missed Mama, Mama would make it all better again. Mama always did. Mama would make mean Magister Alexius sorry. Mama would save everyone. Mama was a Dragonborn and a warrior and a queen and she could do anything! Maia missed her.

“Are you serious,” Madanach said softly. “ _Elisif_ is the Herald of Andraste?? _My_ Elisif?”

Maia nodded, not trusting herself to speak in case she started crying again, but she risked looking up at her father, who looked amazed… and then he smiled, a brilliant, happy smile she'd not seen in too long as he stared up at Eola, eyes shining.

“We found her,” he managed to get out. “We found my Elisif.”

Eola nodded, grinning back at her father, finally cheerful again.

“We did!” Eola laughed. “By Sithis, we should have seen it sooner. Holy warrior with her own cult, trying to save the world – who else is it going to be? Can't expect a Dragonborn to keep a low profile, can we?”

Madanach shook his head, laughing despite tears rolling down his cheek which he wiped away without even seeming to realise he was crying.

“That holy warrior of theirs,” he managed to say. “That Andrastian hero. I married her. She's my wife. My beautiful wife.”

“Daddy?” Maia whispered, confused and a bit worried – why was he crying? Didn't he want to see Mama again? “Are you all right?”

Madanach nodded, cuddling Maia and kissing her forehead before tucking her braids back behind her ears.

“Yes, little one, I'm going to be fine,” Madanach said, kissing her again from sheer joy of it. “We're getting out of here, you, me, Eola, Liriel, we're going to find your mother, Eola's going to get Cicero back, then we're going to come back for everyone else with an army at our back, just you wait!”

Maia didn't fully understand why Daddy was pleased and crying at the same time but she understood the concept of finding Mama and then coming back with a rescue force.

“Yay!” Maia cried, cuddling him back with all the fierceness a Dragonborn five year old could muster. “We're going to find Mama!” Then she turned to Bethany, flushed from all the excitement. “Daddy, is Bethany coming too?”

“Sure, if she wants!” Madanach laughed. “Well, Mistress Hawke? Want to meet the Herald of Andraste?”

“I-” Bethany wanted to. Of course she did, and who wouldn't want to get out of Redcliffe? But unlike Madanach, she'd come with more than five people. 

“I can't leave the children,” Bethany said softly, thinking of three little faces gazing up at her, not to mention the rest of the Kirkwallers. “I'm sorry. But you three definitely need to go. Alexius will take you prisoner for sure if he can. Don't worry about me. Just get to Haven and raise the alarm. If Elisif is anything like you claim, you can do more to help us by bringing her here than taking me with you.”

“But Bethany!” Maia cried but Madanach hushed her.

“It's her choice, little one,” Madanach said quietly. “Besides, she needs to look after the others. Bethany's a fighter, cariad. She can take care of herself.”

Maia pouted but did not cry, just scrambling off his knee and running to cuddle Bethany instead.

“Good luck!” Maia whispered. “Victory or Sovingard! Or… or where Fereldan warriors go when they die.”

“To the Maker's side, so the Chantry says, but they're wrong about a lot of things,” Bethany said, picking Maia up for a cuddle. “But we'll see what happens. For now, just keep quiet and out of sight until tonight. Best to slip out after dark.”

Madanach agreed, while Eola was looking thoughtful, scanning the letter she was holding.

“And we could get Elisif some more information in the meantime,” Eola said, handing the letter over to Madanach. “Take a look at this. That young Tevinter slipped it to me after he collapsed into my arms. Assuming he's not just overcome by my charms, looks like he may be trying to help us.”

“You are in terrible danger. Meet me in the Chantry and I'll explain everything,” Madanach read. “And what's this? It's in different handwriting, scribbled at the end like an afterthought. Bring the child...” Madanach lowered the letter and looked at Maia, evidently the child in question. “Are they joking? Bring Maia to the Chantry? There could be anything lying in wait for her!”

“I don't think Alexius – Magister Alexius – knows,” Eola said, pacing the room, deep in thought. “The Tevinter who gave me this was his son, Felix, and he collapsed on purpose so he could give me this without his father seeing. Someone doesn't agree with his father's actions, I think.”

“What do you mean?” Bethany said, confused. “Is he not ill after all then?”

“Oh he's ill all right,” Eola said, smirking. “He's got the Blight, I could smell the corruption on him. That's why his da wants a cure. I might even be able to provide one, but it's not escaped me that once Felix is cured, I don't have any leverage any more. So… I've been stalling.”

“You can cure the Blight??” Bethany gasped, stunned. “But it's incurable!”

“Is it?” Madanach asked shrewdly. Eola's darkspawn samples and dissection notes hadn't been lost in the time vortex, and her experiments appeared to have continued regardless. There must have been something in there, and he wasn't disappointed.

“Maybe, but I can't know until I've tested it,” Eola said. “What I have learned is that the flesh isn't decaying and the blood doesn't curdle. Namirene organisms that normally bring the decay process about won't touch darkspawn flesh. So, not a natural phenomenon and not something of Namira's.”

“Another Daedra's doing, you think?” Madanach asked, his own interest piqued. Eola shrugged.

“Who can say. But a Daedra's influence could drive it out. I don't want to say any more but I think I could purge the Blight corruption out of him. Of course, I'm not sure poor Felix would like the side-effects but he wouldn't be dying from within?”

It was something, but it wasn't Madanach's main priority. Right now, it seemed Felix was at least trying to help, and the prospect of a cure might help rein him in if need be.

“A few illusions to distract any spies, and we could slip out without anyone seeing,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “We'll bring Maia – it's probably safer than leaving her here alone in all honesty. But wear your best armour and bring your mace. I'll get changed too, the enchantments on these robes are a little basic. Also they itch.”

They were spare ones that had once belonged to an enchanter that hadn't made it, and Madanach never really had got used to the idea of thick heavy mage robes. Bethany rolled her eyes and got up to leave.

“I'll settle the apprentices and meet you in the tap room. Don't look so surprised, I'm not letting you go into this alone,” Bethany said firmly. “I want answers too!”

Madanach agreed – an extra mage would be useful and he did trust Bethany. And so everyone dispersed to get ready and reconvene in the bar. They had some Tevinters to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because things were going just too easily for them. :D I feel so sorry for Maia, she's really suffering and it doesn't get any easier next chapter...


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the Chantry brings answers, but hastily-laid plans are apt to go wrong, and Magister Alexius is no fool. With the only hope of salvation lying in Haven now, Liriel flees to get help, but those left behind will pay the price...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're still here! Awesome! A few of you did seem a little confused over last chapter, and I don't blame you, but it is canon-based, honest. You of course know that in canon, Fiona appears in Val Royeaux and invites you to visit Redcliffe. Then when you visit, no one is expecting you, everyone is off, Fiona's never been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave, and it turns out the previously interested mage rebellion has been indentured to Tevinter magister Gereon Alexius. It turns out he did this by using highly dangerous time magic to travel back to just after the Conclave, saving the mage rebellion from Templars and offering an alliance... an alliance which soon turns into slavery for the mages. Except it seems locally confined to Redcliffe - your Inquisitor remembers the Val Royeaux meeting but Fiona doesn't... but she's confused and wonders why she feels so strange.
> 
> The same thing has happened in this fic, except with Madanach and co in Redcliffe, I felt it might be interesting to write it from the point of view of someone actually in Redcliffe. Which is why Madanach has gone from Enchanter-General to in hiding, and everyone is freaking out. Particularly Maia, who as a Dragonborn, is attuned to the flow of time in a way everyone else is not, and therefore remembers how it was.
> 
> So that's what happened in a nutshell - hope it clears things up! More is revealed this chapter as well, as Dorian makes his appearance! You'll like Dorian.

To anyone watching the tavern, it would seem like Bethany and Madanach escorted Maia down to the docks and started sitting with her, watching the lake and boats and people passing by and chatting about nothing. Eola meanwhile had shut herself in her room for some studying giving orders not to be disturbed. No one ever did disturb her.

Meanwhile under cover of a mass invisibility spell, four adult mages and a small Dragonborn crept out to the Chantry, mere shadows slipping by out of the corner of the eye, approaching the red doors of Redcliffe Chantry and slipping inside, Madanach leading the way.

The Fade rift was the first thing grabbing his attention. The second was the Tevinter mage fending off two demons at once. The third was the demon heading right for him, a big rage demon made of glowing lava.

“IIZ!” Maia cried, having poked her head round her father's legs and seen the thing and shouted the first Thu'um that came to mind. It worked and for a few precious seconds the rage demon froze. It was long enough for the others to get in and for all four mages to start unleashing spells.

With five adult mages, the tide of battle swiftly turned and before long the demons were gone, leaving them staring at a hole in the Veil… and one small girl darting in and out of the strange zones this rift had spawned.

“Daddy, this one speeds time up, look!” Maia cried, zipping in and out of one of the strange glowing magical circles, practically a blur as she ran through it.

“So I see, Maia will you get over here!” Madanach snapped, stressed enough as it was. “Stop playing in the… whatever it is!”

Maia pouted, bottom lip poking out and sad eyes staring at her father, while Eola barely managed to stifle a giggle. Madanach gritted his teeth and pointed at the rift.

“Before anything else comes through, if you please?” Madanach growled at her. Maia sighed, shrugged and stomped nearer, glaring pointedly at the rift before Shouting it shut.

The rift sealed up and the strange time zones disappeared at least. Now there was just a glowing green crescent suspended in midair. Better than nothing anyway.

“Thank you,” Madanach said, holding out a hand to Maia who ran over and grudgingly cuddled him, still a bit miffed she could no longer play in the time sinks. Madanach didn't press it. She'd forgive him eventually, he was sure. Particularly as the Tevinter they'd seen when they first entered was getting to his feet, brushing himself down and approaching with a smile on his face.

Light brown skin. Grey eyes. Short dark hair, shaved at the sides, quiff at the front, fancy moustache on his upper lip, charming smile, probably late twenties or maybe a bit older, rather attractive… but with the air of a man who knew it. Had Madanach been single, he'd have considered it… but he had a feeling this one was high-maintenance.

The Tevinter mage was presently kneeling down to talk to Maia, who'd gone very pink and was giggling nervously, coy little smile on her face and she looked shyly away from him, and dear gods, he could turn on the charm, couldn't he? Madanach would have to keep an eye on him.

“Fascinating!” the mage breathed, staring delighted at Maia. “How did you do that?”

Maia didn't answer, giggling shyly and edging behind her father. The mage grinned, sitting back on his heels before looking up at Madanach.

“Did you teach her that?” he asked, genuinely impressed. “I didn't know southern mages could do things like that.”

“It's a gift,” Madanach growled, not prepared to discuss the Thu'um with him, no matter how cute he was. 

“A dragon taught me!” Maia whispered, pulling one of her braids across her face as she gazed adoringly up at him. The mage gasped.

“A dragon! Really? Was it a big dragon?”

“Yes!” Maia giggled, gaining her confidence and emerging. “He's big and red, with teeth as big as me! And he's called Odahviing and he lives on the roof of Mama's palace in Solitude!”

“That's amazing,” the mage marvelled and really he had no right to be handsome _and_ effortlessly charming as well, and he definitely had no right to be charming Madanach's little girl. Even Eola was grinning, look at her. Madanach swiftly cast Detect Life to ensure this man didn't have any friends creeping up on them. Fortunately, it looked like it was just the five of them. That made things so much easier.

“Yeah, it's a small miracle of magic,” Madanach growled. “Look, who the hell are you? And did you send us that note?”

The mage tutted, shaking his head as he got up.

“Tsk, tsk! So impatient. But I do owe you an introduction, don't I? My name is Dorian, scion of House Pavus out of Qarinus, and… my word, are you some sort of elf? Or a Qunari? I don't think I've ever seen a female one before.”

Liriel's eyes narrowed as she folded her arms, glaring at Dorian coldly.

“Human, I am so very tired of being asked that question,” Liriel said tersely. “I am a High Elf. I have a magical talent you would weep to possess if you truly understood it. Beyond that, I owe you very little explanation of my origins. Did you or did you not send us that note?”

“All right, all right, steady on, no need to pull rank on us peons-by-comparison,” Dorian said, holding up his hands and backing off. “Yes, yes, you're quite right, it was me who sent that note via an intermediary. Someone had to warn you all, after all, and you seemed the ones most likely to be able to help.”

“Help how?” Madanach asked, at the same time as Bethany gasped “But you're a Tevinter magister!”

Dorian Pavus closed his eyes, looking as if he was actually in physical pain.

“All right. Let's say this once and get it out of the way. I'm a mage from Tevinter, yes. I'm not a magister, and quite honestly the way you southerners bandy the word about as if it applies to every mage from Tevinter is really rather distressing. The word magister is properly only applied to members of the Magisterium, the upper house of the Imperial Senate. My father is one. Gereon Alexius is one. I am not.”

“But you are from Tevinter,” Eola purred, and Madanach mentally rolled his eyes as his elder daughter sauntered up to Dorian, clearly showing off her cleavage, and really what was it with this man and being able to charm his family? Thankfully, Dorian barely seemed to notice.

“I am!” Dorian said brightly. “And yet I did send that note to you. Because, and I know this may come as a shock, but just because Gereon Alexius and I are both Tevinter mages doesn't mean we agree. He, for example, seems to have taken leave of his senses and decided to sign up with a group of Tevinter supremacists called the Venatori, dedicated to conquering the whole of Thedas and restoring the Imperium of old. I disagree. And that's why I decided that the mage rebellion needed my help and how better to do it than reach out to the one who'd been well on the way to turning it into a powerful faction before Alexius intervened? If anyone can save them, it's their Enchanter-General and his inner circle. Don't you think?”

 _But I'm not Enchanter-General!_ Madanach wanted to cry out, frustrated. He wasn't anything, just keeping a low profile and pretending to be an elderly enchanter from Kirkwall Circle. Which chafed enough as it was, hearing he really had once been the rebellion's military leader hurt even more.

“You remember too!” Maia cried. Dorian nodded sadly.

“Yes, little one, I do. Or rather, I wasn't here when Alexius cast the magic that's changed everything. I heard all about it later from my own informant in Alexius's ranks.”

“Informant?” Madanach wanted to know, but he was distracted by the Chantry door opening. Madanach turned, Bethany also reaching for her staff, only to see Alexius's own son slipping inside before heading over, grinning at Dorian.

“Felix!” Dorian cried, beaming. “You made it! Took you long enough. Your old man isn't getting suspicious, is he?”

“No, but I shouldn't have played the illness card,” Felix said, grimacing. “I thought he'd never stop fussing. So you got my note then?” This was said to Eola who nodded.

“Yeah, Sick Note, I got your message,” Eola said, folding her arms. “Are you in league with Dorian here, or your da? And why might you be interested in selling out a da who clearly loves you and cares for you, hmm?”

“I'm not selling him out!” Felix sighed. “But what he's doing… this time magic… it's not right! I saw the spy reports, I know what the rebellion was like before my father changed time! You were rivalling the Inquisition itself, and you had a Mascot that could seal Rifts! And now look at you all, you're all frightened indentees!”

Dorian's eyes had flicked to Maia and Felix followed them, before glancing up at the sealed Rift hovering behind Dorian.

“What, really?” Felix laughed. “The Mascot was a little girl?”

Maia was glaring up at him, eyes narrowed and suddenly looking very like her father.

“I can _breathe fire,_ you know!” Maia snapped. “Tell him, Daddy!”

Madanach just about concealed his laughter as he knelt down and scooped her up so she could glare at Felix all the better for having him at eye-level.

“My daughter's very brave and very bright,” Madanach informed him, smirking. “So, you were saying? Magister Alexius, your esteemed father, has signed up with a cult and you're appalled, hmm? And I still don't know where Dorian here comes into everything.”

“Because it's my fault!” Dorian sighed, smile fading as sorrow wrote itself all over his face, sorrow… and guilt. “I was his apprentice. Back in Tevinter. He sponsored me to the highest levels of the Minrathous Circle of Magi, and in return my successes became his. I had a lot of successes naturally.”

Eola coughed suddenly, in a way that sounded an awful lot like 'egotist!', earning Dorian's pointed glare in the process (although Madanach's proud grin meant Dorian's disapproval had very little effect).

“Don't mind me,” Eola grinned. “It's all the dust. That and I'm allergic to temples.”

That did get a laugh off Dorian.

“Hah! Well, what with these poky little things you have down south, I don't blame you,” Dorian said off-handedly. “Well, as I said, Gereon Alexius was my mentor, which is how Felix and I met and became friends. I say was. We had a falling out, you see. He was trying to get time magic to work, I told him it was a pointless effort, and he didn't like that. So I left and we never saw each other again. Until he approached me for the Venatori of course. Needless to say, I said no.”

“But you're still here,” Bethany pointed out, suspicious. “And I've still not heard a reason why we should trust two sons of Tevinter Magisters!”

“Especially when one of you added 'Bring the child' to that note,” Madanach said, tightening his grip on Maia. “Your interest in my daughter, please.”

“What, she's your actual daughter?” Dorian said, surprised. “They let southern mages keep their children? She was born before the rebellion started!”

“They're not southern mages,” Felix said softly. “Come on, Dorian, didn't the six foot tall elf with the golden skin tip you off? My father's agents reported they're from somewhere called Tamriel, and it's a land where mages are free and allowed to have property and get married and have kids, and they've got golden-skinned elves with magic as good as anything any magister can come up with, and Enchanter Madanach here's a nobleman with an army. And Maia's his little girl who wasn't affected by the time magic. When my father travelled back in time to just after the Conclave and persuaded Fiona to ally with him in return for sponsorship to Tevinter citizenship and protection from the Templars, you lot hadn't turned up yet. So the magic went a bit weird with you. Especially with your little girl. For some reason, she's attuned to time flows in a way no one else is.”

Madanach was not going to explain Dragonborns to either Tevinter if he could help it but he was fiercely proud of Maia for managing to singlehandedly put a hitch in Magister Alexius's plans.

“Yes, which means we need to get you out of here,” Dorian said, looking sombrely at Maia. “He gets his hands on you, he's just gained a significant advantage.”

Maia was pouting back at Dorian, unhappy little face staring back and Dorian's expression unconsciously shifted to match.

“Can you put it back?” Maia whispered. “Make it how it was?” 

Maia's little wail as Dorian slowly shook his head and said no was enough to tug at Madanach's heart, and Dorian was looking genuinely torn himself.

“But I can help get you to safety,” Dorian promised her and Maia's face screwed up and she began to cry, it all being a bit too much for her. 

“Mama,” she was sobbing. “I want Mama.”

“We'll get Mama,” Madanach promised, holding her close and inwardly swearing vengeance on this Alexius for upsetting his little girl. “I promise.”

“Capital and admirable, old chap, but if her mother's not with the mage rebellion, you're honestly better off trying the Inquisition,” Dorian said quietly. “Now, I was here mainly to check in with Felix, tell you what happened and see if you'd prove able to mount an uprising from within but if Maia here already knows what happened, that changes everything. We need to get her to safety. I was planning to slip out and raise the alarm in Haven anyway. You should come with me. I would have thought telling them we've got the mage rebellion's Mascot would help with negotiations. Sign of good faith and all that.”

Madanach opened his mouth to say something, before reconsidering. No need for Dorian to learn that Madanach was the Herald's husband and father of her child just yet, after all.

“Fine by me,” Madanach said. “Was planning to sneak out tonight anyhow.”

“Tonight?” Dorian said, raising an eyebrow. “I don't think so. Not now. Alexius will be looking to relocate you to the castle sooner rather than later. You need to leave now while you still can. You can do illusions, can't you? Cast some and let's be moving.”

“What, right now?” Madanach said, alarmed, at the same time as Eola cried out that she still had her notes back at the inn.

“Leave them,” Dorian said through gritted teeth. “Who knows, maybe something in there really will help Felix.”

“He won't be able to read them,” Eola scowled, only to get a grin from Dorian.

“Excellent, then you don't need to worry about him misusing them,” Dorian said, indicating for them to come with him. “Come on, let's get out of here. Sooner we get to Haven, the better.”

So Madanach gave in, and soon they were slipping out under illusion cover, just as the previous decoys returned to the inn. Bethany whispered goodbye and slipped into the tavern, while Felix returned to the castle. And with them gone, silence descended as four adult mages and a little girl clutching a frog toy in one hand and her father's hand in the other made their way to Redcliffe's gates.

They almost made it too. Madanach could see the gates approaching, the green glimmer of a sealed rift hovering just outside the gatehouse. With any luck it'd stay that way.

And then the dispelling magic whistled over their heads, Madanach's illusions dissipating into the sunlight, and Dorian quietly cursed under his breath as Magister Gereon Alexius emerged from his own illusion shield, with a small contingent of Venatori soldiers behind him.

“Did you really think I'd be fooled by a few low-grade illusions,” Alexius said quietly. “My people knew the versions of you by the docks weren't real. It was just a matter of working out where you really were, so I decided to investigate the gates personally. And here you are, the Circle's foremost Blight expert, so I'm told, an enchanter who allegedly spent his entire life in the strictest Circle in the South but has a child that predates the mage rebellion calling him father, some crossbreed mage who's part Tal-Vashoth from the look of it, and a little girl with such _unusual_ abilities and affinities that surely warrant further study.”

“ _Crossbreed??_ ” Liriel hissed under her breath, but Madanach had no time to waste tending to Liriel's bruised ego. Madanach did not like the way Alexius was leering at Maia, and Maia clearly didn't like it either.

“Leave me alone!” Maia cried. “You're a bad man! Daddy, make him stop!”

Madanach growled, glaring at Alexius.

“No closer, magister,” Madanach growled. “I'm not letting you near her.”

Alexius had the nerve to laugh.

“You really think you're a match for me? Some hedge mage in no doubt stolen armour?”

Why yes, Madanach really truly did, and honestly he was done hiding by this point. So he loosened his magicka controls and cheerfully started advertising his power again, and was rather gratified to see a few of the soldiers wincing. Alexius was no longer smiling.

“The armour is mine, and I am no hedge mage,” Madanach announced. “Let us leave, and I won't murder you all.”

Alexius's eyes narrowed, but it was to Dorian he turned his attention, looking very disappointed and shaking his head.

“And my former apprentice, helping them out. Dorian, Dorian. I'm very disappointed with you. You could have been a part of all this, you know! And yet here you are, running about with your inferiors – really, Dorian, this is too much. A little rebellion is tolerated in young Alti, but abandoning your class entirely? Put this foolishness aside and come back to me, Dorian, before you are completely ruined.”

“Quick! Back to your chaperone before your marriage prospects are destroyed!” Eola called, barely concealing her mirth. She and Cicero had been consuming Orlesian romances since their arrival, both finding the idea of a culture so hung up on preserving sexual purity at all costs ridiculous. 

Apparently she wasn't the only one, because it did make Dorian laugh.

“Oh, they're already ruined, I wouldn't worry about that,” Dorian said, shrugging. “Awfully sorry, Alexius, I'm not interested. Tevinter has its flaws, but I don't see your vision for it as an improvement.”

“I wasn't offering you a choice,” Alexius said, expression darkening as his soldiers drew their weapons. “I'm arresting you all.”

“Oh, you can _try,_ ” Madanach growled, casting mage armour and summoning ice to his hands, and Maia was doing likewise although it was obvious from her posture that she really wasn't sure about any of this and was clearly terrified, also she only had one hand free for casting due to Frogella being clutched in the other. Madanach couldn't help but notice, positioning himself in front of her… and Eola had noticed too, and while ordinarily she'd have decided several top mages versus one magister and his non-mage soldiers was odds all in their favour, Maia's presence changed everything, and their father clearly wasn't thinking anything like as tactically as he normally did. He never did when his baby's safety was on the line… but Eola wasn't a baby any more.

“Dorian, Liriel, get my father and sister out of here,” Eola announced. “I'll hold them off.”

“You'll do _what??_ ” Madanach cried, but Liriel had already scooped Maia up and started racing off with her, Dorian swiftly following, and Madanach couldn't waste time arguing while his five year old was howling for him. And then the thirty two year old's skin rippled, golden-brown fur sprouting along her limbs as her face changed, and while Madanach was aware of Jorrvaskr having werewolves, and that Cicero was one, he'd not fully realised until that moment that Eola had shared the blood too. They'd never really spoken about it.

Panic had started among the Venatori ranks, and then the change was complete, Eola had howled and half the Venatori soldiers promptly fled back into the village.

“DADDY!” Maia screamed, and Madanach winced to hear it. Everything in him was telling him to run, go after Maia… but Eola was in danger and she needed him too.

_Burning city, Reachmen dying at the Nords' hands, Mireen and the girls already gone, Nepos telling me to leave, I can't, I can't, Argis and Inga are still out there, Sithis no, I need to send guards…_

Another life, half a world away, and Madanach could never go back and change that. But he could stay and protect Eola, and so he backed off… but only so he could get a better angle with the fireballs.

Another wail from Maia and Madanach hated the idea of leaving her… but he saw Liriel holding his daughter, Liriel who Keirine had assured him was trustworthy and who had entertained and take care of a lost and scared five year old who'd just had to flee Solitude, Liriel who was certainly a match for Dorian if the mage tried anything.

“Madanach??” Dorian cried. “Madanach, come on, we haven't got all day! They'll be after us next!”

Us. Dorian saw them as 'us'. He'd risked his life and station back home to try and help. That was a surprise… but a welcome one, and it decided him. He'd seen one daughter killed in front of him once. It wasn't happening again.

“Liriel, get Maia to Haven!” Madanach shouted as he raised a wall of fire to keep the Venatori off him. “Find Elisif! Tell her to come save Redcliffe! I can't leave Eola!”

“Madanach, what… MADANACH, YOU GET OVER HERE, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL ELISI- oh daedra,” Liriel sighed, desperately clutching on to a screaming, crying child who was trying to wriggle out of her arms and chase after her father, and it took all Liriel's attention to stop her escaping. What Madanach was thinking, Liriel had no idea, and it wouldn't have helped her to know that Maia's heartbroken wails tore at his heart… but not as much as leaving Eola behind would have. Maia would be all right. Dorian and Liriel would look after her. He hoped.

“DADDY!!!” Maia screamed, reaching out to her father's flame-cloaked figure, but Liriel was holding her too tightly to wriggle away from. Then a touch on Liriel's arm from Dorian as he motioned for her to follow.

“We can't help them, not without putting her in danger,” Dorian said, sadness in his eyes, but also a certain amount of pragmatism showing through, and while Dorian Pavus was a good man, he'd not been brought up to appreciate sentimentality. “They have a better chance with Maia safe.”

Liriel nodded, knowing he was right, but all the same, Maia was heartbroken. But there was nothing she could do.

“I'm sorry, da'linna,” Liriel said softly. All that she could do was follow Madanach's instructions to protect Maia. And Maia's safety right now was best served by getting her to the Inquisition and raising the alarm.

Praying quietly that Madanach and Eola both made it, Liriel ran.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Travelling was not exactly Dorian's favourite activity at the best of times. Travelling with virtually nothing in the way of supplies, even less so. 

Travelling with a five year old girl traumatised by the loss of her father and beloved older sister… truly a horrific experience Dorian was already vowing never to repeat again if he could help it. Thank Andraste for Liriel, was all he could think. Liriel had carried the sobbing child until they were far enough away that she judged it safe to put her down… and then Maia had trailed behind her, sniffling and rubbing her eyes the whole time but otherwise silent as she clutched Liriel's hand. Liriel had also dealt with the toilet breaks, for which Dorian felt he owed her a drink. Several drinks in fact. If they ever found a nice tavern again.

As it was, they were out in the Hinterlands, three days away from Haven, and not with a lot in the way of supplies. Dorian had a bedroll. One bedroll. No tent. Liriel had little in the way of supplies because she'd left the Gull and Lantern prepared for nothing more than checking out the local Chantry. She'd not packed for a trek across Ferelden with a five year old in tow. Dorian was used to foraging for himself but for two adults and a small child? He was not an expert in wilderness survival, and Liriel didn't seem to be either. But she was at least quietly encouraging Maia not to give up, which was something.

Dorian still wasn't entirely sure what to make of the concept of High Elves, that looked like a sort of hybrid between elves and Qunari, except without the horns and generally a bit prettier than most Qunari. Too pretty for Dorian's tastes though, although much depended on what the men looked like. Still, Liriel was all right. Even if the concept of a far-off continent with free mages and elves who weren't remotely subservient should worry everyone. Nevertheless, Dorian had no time to worry about Tamriel when he had so many more pressing problems to worry about, such as food and shelter and the fact it was getting dark and...

And then the bandits stepped out of the trees, bows pointed squarely at them both. Marvellous.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” Dorian said, reaching for his staff. “We can settle this like reasonable folk, can't we?”

“Was he one of them?” one of the bandits asked, frowning.

“Don't know, don't care,” the leader growled. “But that weird elf-Qunari was with them. You lot killed our employers. You lot lost us a lot of money on that job.”

Dorian had literally no idea what they were on about, but you didn't have to be a genius to know what was coming, particularly as Liriel had cast a sort of mage armour spell and was already telling Maia to run, and had just summoned some sort of female flame demon, which Dorian was near certain would get a southern mage made Tranquil on the spot if the Templars saw it. Well, if Liriel killed someone quick, Dorian could do something with the corpse, he supposed.

And then he heard it. Hoofbeats in the distance, getting closer. Someone was coming, and from the speed they were going, this was no peasant rider. This was a noble, which likely meant armed and dangerous. Hopefully.

Maia had heard it too, and decided to take her chances. 

“FUS RO DAH!” the little girl shouted, and Dorian actually shivered at the raw magic that had just scattered the bandits. And then Maia was off, fleeing into the shadows, leaving one unnerved Tevinter necromancer staring at several dazed bandits and a High Elf who'd just summoned a sword in one hand and fire in the other.

“Don't just stand there, Pavus, kill them before they get back up again,” Liriel said through gritted teeth, sending fire at one and stabbing down with her bound blade at another, and Dorian hadn't realised she'd be quite that _efficient_ at it. 

Really not his type physically, but goodness, he rather liked this woman's spirit. So he raised the corpses she'd left behind and started casting a few fire spells of his own, and with any luck Maia wouldn't have gone far.

Meanwhile Maia was running, running and not stopping, despite being scared and terrified and despite the fact she'd known Dorian barely a day, he was handsome and kind and had helped look after her, and she didn't want him to get hurt! And it was worse with Liriel, because Liriel had comforted her when she'd been lost and afraid after running away from Solitude, and helped looked after her while she'd been here. Maia liked Liriel! And now she was having to fight the bad men with Dorian. Bad enough that the bad mages had hurt Eola, and Daddy and… well, maybe Daddy and Eola had killed them all and got away. But they'd not caught up either, and now there were bandits, and it was dark and Maia was scared and…

Bluey-purple light in the distance, and then the horse turned the corner, galloping through the trees at inhumanly fast speeds, and Maia shrieked and darted away.

The horse reared as its rider heard her, took evasive action, and then brought his horse to a stop, and Maia realised the reason it was so fast was because it wasn't a normal horse, it was a glowing skeleton horse, and sitting on its back…

Cicero had cast a magelight and was staring down at her, utterly confused.

“Maia?” he said, blinking in the magelight. “Little one, what are you doing in the forest all on your own? It is past your bedtime! Cicero is surprised your father has allowed this.”

“Daddy...” Maia stopped, not wanting to say it out loud, or think about him being cornered by the bad mages. But she could still help Dorian and Liriel, whose magic was still echoing through the trees. Instead, she just pointed back towards the fighting, too upset to say anything else.

Cicero took the hint and nodded, and despite the fact that Cicero was a bit strange, he'd always been nice to Maia, and Maia knew he loved Eola.

“Cicero will help,” Cicero said, leaping off the horse and starting to peel his armour off, depositing his pack by the road as well. “Listen, Maia. Keep running that way, and there is a campfire, with mercenaries called the Bull's Chargers. Where there is a nice man called Krem and a great big Qunari with horns called The Iron Bull. Look very sad and pitiful and tell them bandits are attacking your family and Cicero needs help saving them. They are friends. You can trust them. Now go! This next bit is frightening.”

Cicero was topless by this point and red hair was already sprouting all along his chest and back, and Maia had had enough. She turned and ran in the direction Cicero had pointed in, hands over her ears to blot out the unearthly howling shortly followed by screaming. Needless to say, none of the screaming was Cicero.

Maia stumbled on, not wanting to know what Cicero was getting up to, but scared and tired and hungry and wanting Daddy but scared she'd never see him again. But she could find the Chargers and help Cicero. So she focused on that and soon she saw a campfire up ahead and singing.

“Ohhh, no man can beat the Chargers, cause we'll hit you where it hurts! Unless you know a tavern with loose cards and looser skirts!”

Maia didn't know very many taverns, but she wasn't a man either, and Cicero had said they were friendly. So Maia stumbled into the camp, looking for the nice man called Krem and the big Qunari.

She was faced with several men, two elven women, one dwarf and towering over them all, what must be the Iron Bull, with big horns and maybe even bigger muscles than Borkul's, all of whom had stopped singing and turned to stare, many even reaching for weapons… until they saw she was just a little girl.

“Help me!” Maia cried, hoping she looked pitiful enough. “Bandits! Bad men! Hurting people! Hurting Cicero!”

Which wasn't what she meant to say, but she was tired and scared and ready to cry, and her Thedosian wasn't so good that it held up under stress.

The Iron Bull was already getting up, reaching for a battle axe. 

“Where are these bandits,” Bull growled, and Maia pointed back the way she'd come. Bull nodded and turned to the others, similarly arming themselves.

“Right. Stitches, Rocky, keep an eye on the kid. Everyone else, with me. We got us some bad guys to beat up. Don't worry, miss. We'll deal with them.”

“Assuming Cicero left any for us,” one of the men added, shorter than the others and with smoother cheeks than most men, grinning as he followed his boss.

“He's one man, what's he going to manage on his own,” Bull said grimly, and his lieutenant actually laughed. 

“Wait till you get to know him,” he said, grinning even wider, and then he was gone, leaving Maia alone with a dwarf and a scarred Redguardy man who looked to be putting together a sack of healing supplies.

“Don't let the chief worry you, little one,” the man said, smiling kindly at her. “He's not a bad man. He'll sort out the bandits for you. Name's Stitches, I'm the company healer. Is that Cicero the same one we met on the Storm Coast who just rode past here not half an hour ago on a demon horse? The one with the hat and the knives?”

Maia nodded, coming to sit down next to him, finally feeling her fears ease a bit.

“And how did you meet him?” Stitches asked. “I'm surprised many kids would know Cicero.” Which was a delicate way of saying very few parents would let their kid anywhere near Cicero, but Maia had no way of working that out.

“He married my big sister,” Maia whispered. “He's funny. I like him. What if the bandits hurt him??”

“Then I'll help put him back together,” said Stitches, smiling, and Maia felt herself smiling hopefully despite everything going so wrong in just one day. Maybe they'd find Daddy and Eola too? And Stitches could help put them back together. If they weren't…

Maia didn't want to think about that, but fortunately that was the moment a war horn rang out, and the dwarf Rocky got up, motioning for Stitches to follow.

“All clear. Someone'll probably want fixing up,” the dwarf said. Stitches finished gathering his gear and got up, motioning for Maia to follow.

“Probably not many in the short time they've been gone,” Stitches said. “But let's go see what's left over.”

Sure enough, there were corpses everywhere, the forest floor awash with blood, looking like some wild beast had rampaged through there and ripped a ton of bandits to bits. Which had in fact been what had happened, although said beast was back in human form now, completely naked and lying exhausted on the ground, glaring up at a fully clothed Tevinter mage who was defensively holding his staff… and a blushing High Elf who seemed more bothered by male nudity than by all the blood and bodies.

“Don't move!” the mage snapped at him. “I don't know who – what – you are but I can summon demons!”

Cicero pouted, attention turning to the elf who was determinedly not looking in his direction.

“It's all right, Dorian, he's a friend!” she cried. “Only I didn't know he was a… Cicero, could you _please_ put some clothes on??”

“Cicero isn't sure where they are,” Cicero admitted, looking around. “Cicero shall find them though – come on, sweet Liriel has seen naked men before?”

“That is none of your – just get dressed!” Liriel howled, mortified, and Cicero raised both eyebrows and giggled.

“Oops,” Cicero smirked, and then he saw Iron Bull had arrived and perked up even more, rolling over to grin lasciviously at Bull.

“Hello Iron Bull,” Cicero purred. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Bull looked down and laughed, clearly not put off in the slightest, and the courtship might have started right there if Maia hadn't rushed on to the scene.

“Cicero!” she cried, and then stopped, on realising Cicero was naked. Cicero's grin died a death immediately, as pink stained most of his upper body and his hands went to his groin to hide himself. 

“Oh Sithis,” Cicero whispered. “Madanach will kill me.”

Maia was blushing a bit but couldn't help giggling.

“He's not wearing any clothes!” Maia giggled. “Cicero's not wearing anything!”

Cicero's hat flew across the clearing and hit him in the chest, and Krem of the Chargers sauntered up grinning.

“Found your hat, Cicero,” he announced. Cicero hissed and used it to cover his privates.

“You could have found my smallclothes!” he hissed. Krem just shrugged.

“Didn't fancy rooting around in the dark for your things somehow,” Krem said. “Besides, you're not telling me this is the first time you've had to hunt for your clothes in the dark.”

Cicero growled at Krem, and the bared teeth might have been frightening from a clothed and armed Cicero but as it was, Cicero's naked body wasn't intimidating anyone, not a seasoned soldier like Krem anyway. Glaring, Cicero got up, cast a magelight and ran off to find his gear.

“I can see your bottom!” Maia called after, still giggling. Cicero growled but did not stop.

“Leave poor Cicero alone!” he howled as he vanished into the shadows, the laughter of the Chargers following him. Bull smirked before turning to Dorian, who hadn't relaxed at all, and Liriel, who'd only relaxed slightly now she no longer had to put up with a naked Cicero.

“All right, Maia, that's enough,” Liriel said firmly. “Stop teasing Cicero. It's not polite.”

“But he wasn't wearing anything, Liriel!” Maia said, still giggling as she ran over to her. “That's not polite either! You're not meant to run around without any clothes on, that's rude!”

Liriel knelt down and cuddled Maia, and while privately relieved to see Maia smiling again, she wasn't well-equipped to deal with a human five year old who thought someone running around naked was the height of hilarity.

“Yes, well, that's Cicero for you,” Liriel said primly. “Now, who are your new friends, hmm?”

Iron Bull, reassured that Liriel at least was fine if Maia had voluntarily run to her and started having an animated conversation (even if his Ben-Hassrath side was mentally filing away the fact that he'd never heard the language before and just what was Liriel anyway??), turned his attention to Dorian. Dorian was definitely a Tevinter mage, and no Tevinter mage was ever truly all right in his mind.

“All right, now how about finding out why the Vint is escorting a frightened little girl away from her family,” Bull said, folding his arms. “Child abduction, is it? My boys and I don't put up with child abductors.”

“I'm not abducting her!” Dorian cried, going a bit pale. “I'm trying to find her mother!”

Bull turned to Liriel and Maia, and while Liriel barely had had enough time to form a firm opinion on Dorian (High Elves rarely formed an opinion on anyone in a hurry, they took their time, played nice in the interim, and decided later on if they liked you or not, and so much of human-elven relations had been characterised by humans failing to realise that it could take decades for Altmer to reach a firm decision), Maia had.

“No, you can't hurt Dorian!” Maia cried. “He's taking me to Haven! Mama's there!”

“Is she,” Bull said, still eyeing Dorian suspiciously. “I see. Miss… Liriel, was it? Should we be trusting this Vint or dumping him in a ditch?”

“I… no, I mean, don't kill him,” Liriel said, uncertainty preying on her – what if Dorian was still a secret Venatori agent, and that scene with Alexius staged for their benefit? What if he was leading her and Maia into a trap?

Well, Liriel had a feeling the Chargers and Cicero could help with that, and once they got to Haven, it was Elisif's call anyway. Dorian might come in useful in the meantime, she supposed.

“He helped get us out of Redcliffe,” Liriel said, coming to a decision – for now anyway. “He didn't have to. He comes with us. We're trying to get to the Inquisition at Haven. Maia's mother is there.”

Iron Bull did seem to relax a little at that.

“Well, you're in luck, ma'am. We were heading that way anyway. So, you get to travel with us instead. We'll take you to Haven, and you get to stay at our camp in the meantime. We might even have a spare tent or two.”

The relief on Liriel's face must have been obvious, and Maia looked overjoyed at the thought of food and sleep. Dorian still looked a bit uneasy, but he wasn't getting murdered, so Liriel decided he could just put up with it.

It was at that point that Cicero turned up, now dressed and with all weapons in place, skipping back into the clearing and straight over to Maia.

“MAIA!” Cicero squealed, dropping to his knees before her and holding his arms out. “You are here! And afraid and in trouble! Where is your papa?? And… and Eola? Liriel? Liriel, why are you here with Maia, where are her kin… Liriel?”

Cicero had seen the way Liriel's eyes had closed and the genuine hurt and despair on her face, and realised Liriel would not be fleeing alone with Maia if she'd had a choice in the matter, and that Madanach would never have sent Maia this far away without him unless Eola and a large squad of mages accompanied her. And now that naked Cicero was no longer around to distract her, Maia remembered. Liriel grabbing her and running. Her father staying back to help Eola. And then… Maia didn't know how the fight had ended, and she couldn't remember the kinfinder spell properly and… They weren't here. Daddy and Eola still hadn't caught up.

Maia began to cry, clinging on to Cicero because he was family, and all she had left, sobbing into his armour, and now she'd started, she couldn't stop, even as Cicero held her tight and stroked her hair and fussed over her.

“Liriel, what has happened,” Cicero said softly. “And who is the strange mage? He is not a Charger.”

“No, he's a Vint,” Bull growled. “Some magister's brat from the Imperium. Your friend Liriel thinks we shouldn't kill him but that doesn't mean he's trustworthy.”

“He did help, Cicero,” Liriel said quietly. “Redcliffe's been taken over by a Tevinter magister who's indentured the mage rebellion. Dorian here warned us what was going on and we tried to escape… but Madanach and Eola… they got captured.”

A little whimper from Cicero, who was struggling to process all this.

“But how??” Cicero whispered. “Madanach was Enchanter-General, he had the military, he could have protected the mages! He could have fought a Tevinter magister! Did Fiona betray him?”

“No,” Liriel said bitterly. “He's not Enchanter-General now. Apparently the magister in question used time magic and no one remembered Madanach had been leading the mage army. We all woke up one day and found we were trying to blend in with the mages and look inconspicuous. And we all thought we'd been doing that all along, but Maia remembered otherwise. Then we got a note from Dorian telling us to meet him, and that's where we found out what had really happened. But you still remember the other timeline?”

“It's the only timeline!” Cicero protested. “Cicero left with Fiona to go to Val Royeaux, because Madanach asked him to investigate the Herald! So Cicero did and Cicero was on his way back with the good news the Herald… can be trusted and will help – and he met the Chargers too, and ran into Borkul and Blackwall on their own mission to the Inquisition and helped them… and then he woke up and realised his matrimony bond was… wrong. It felt wrong. Like something had twisted it. And Eola was not… was not happy! So I left Borkul to it and rode back. And a good thing I did, because is this what I find?? A crying little Maia, Redcliffe in trouble and dear Madanach and sweet Eola… gone?!”

Maia wailed even harder as she clutched his armour, and Liriel bit her lip as she knelt next to him, stroking Maia's back.

“We'll rescue them,” Liriel promised. “We'll get to Haven, tell El – the Herald, and she'll help. She's got an army, she won't let this magister take them prisoner.”

That was if they'd actually survived their encounters with Alexius, but Cicero could help on at least one point as he concentrated quietly, focusing on his wife and her whereabouts.

“Eola is not dead,” Cicero said at length. “She is conscious and does not appear in pain, but I cannot call her happy. And she is stationary, in the direction of Redcliffe. So she is a prisoner. Madanach is likely with her.” Cicero glanced up, faint smile flickering on his lips. “So, we find this magister and his friends and kill them all. Yes? Yessss!”

Maia whimpered and clung to Cicero, and while Liriel was grinning and patting Cicero on the back, Dorian realised Cicero wasn't joking.

“Don't kill all of them?” Dorian said quickly. “There's one, Felix, who's not a bad sort? And even Alexius isn't beyond redemption.”

Cicero hissed and glared at him, and Dorian hastily shut up.

“He has Cicero's _wife!_ ” Cicero snapped. “When she is returned to Cicero, safe and unharmed, Cicero will consider mercy!” 

Maia wailed for her father, and Cicero held her, hushing her quietly.

“But we will take you to your mama first,” Cicero said softly. “Bull, you are heading that way, yes? Is there space for poor Cicero and nice Liriel and sweet little Maia in your camp? I… suppose we could give house room to the other mage.”

“Sure,” Bull said, patting Cicero on the back. “You can come. We've got at least one spare tent for Liriel and the little one, and there's room in my tent for one more. Suppose we can find somewhere for the Vint too.”

“My name is Dori- never mind,” Dorian sighed, seeing he'd be best served by shutting up and following along. As the others made their way back to camp, he was surprised to find Liriel patting him on the back, almost looking sympathetic.

“Sorry,” Liriel said apologetically. “I did try. If it's any consolation, I do know how it feels, trying to do the right thing but everyone thinking you're up to something just because of where you're from. I do try and tell people I didn't actually _fight_ in the war, I just worked with the healers, but it doesn't seem to help. They just see the ears and not a lot else.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said, recalling all the times he'd seen elves and then barely given them further consideration and feeling a touch guilty… but he was already well aware Liriel was no ordinary elf. “If you can keep them from murdering me before we get to Haven, I'd appreciate it.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Liriel promised. “Come on. I'm hungry and I don't think they'll save food if we linger.”

Dorian could live with that, although Liriel's comments about getting judged because of her homeland's sins intrigued him. Tamriel clearly had its own political problems… including an elven equivalent of Tevinter? Intriguing. Very intriguing. Dorian presently felt asking questions would be a dangerous thing to do, but once the current crisis was over and they were all somewhere safe and warm and comfortable, he and Liriel were going to have some fascinating conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor little Maia, she's having such a hard time in this story arc. Don't worry, little thing, you'll be back with your mama again soon.
> 
> This is also the part where I come out as not a Dorian/Bull shipper, so it's unlikely they will be hooking up here. Particularly now Cicero's staked something of a claim to Bull. I don't know how serious Cicero and Bull will get as a couple, but they'll certainly make a fun friends-with-benefits pairing. I also don't intend to leave either man single and lonely - they will be given options, although I cannot promise things will necessarily go smoothly. ;)
> 
> Next chapter will switch back to Redcliffe where we find out what happened to Madanach and Eola, and in which I introduce someone else unexpected...


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eola and Madanach are captives of the Venatori, and the only thing keeping them alive is Eola's expertise on the Blight. Fortunately, they're not without allies on the inside as Eola starts researching in earnest, and Madanach, an old hand at prison by this point, makes a new friend...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relatively short, but it should help ease the cliffhanger that was last chapter. This is where we check in on Madanach and Eola, and introduce a new member of the team - a character from previous games who I have plans for. Big plans!

Eola hated losing fights. She really, _really_ hated losing. It had been going so well too. Alexius bleeding on the floor, his men dying around him as they tried to come to his aid, the fight going her way even…

Except her idiot father, rather than running away, had _stuck around_ with fireballs blazing, and that wouldn't have been so bad in itself if it hadn't distracted her, what with having to constantly remind the beast not to kill that one, and then Alexius's reinforcements had turned up, including a few more mages, and one of the Venatori rogues had managed to knock her father out with sleeping powder, and then beast form had worn off at the worst possible time.

So they'd hauled an unconscious Madanach off to the cells, wrapped her in a cloak and hauled her back to the castle, and now here she was, dressed in secondhand Circle robes with lyrium-enhanced shackles on her wrists to stop her casting or transforming, and her father in the cells as a guarantee of her good behaviour.

Ha. Sure, she'd behave… for now. But her father had form on organising jailbreaks. She could wait. Right now, she had bigger problems. Such as Magister Alexius, now with some interesting scars but otherwise annoyingly not dead, pacing in front of her.

“Do you have any idea what you're interfering with??” Alexius raged, pacing the length of the little bedroom they'd sat her down in. To be hers apparently.

“No, nor do I care,” Eola sighed. “Why is my- why is Madanach in the cells and why am I not there?”

“You should both be fortunate you're even still alive!” Alexius roared, turning on her and slamming a fist into the table. “The Tevinter Imperium is offering its protection to the mage rebellion at considerable expense, and here you are, running away! You are bound to a magister of Tevinter!”

“We're not in Tevinter,” Eola purred. “Shall we take the case before Queen Anora and see how it holds up? Or the local lord – wasn't there a Jarl Teagan here once?”

“ _Arl_ Teagan agreed to leave after a divergence of opinion,” Alexius growled. “And as you're not a Fereldan subject, do not think you'll be able to appeal to them. No one will care what becomes of a Circle enchanter from the Free Marches… or wherever you're really from.”

Buggeration. He clearly knew something was up, even if he'd not heard tales of Tamriel. Eola would have to tread carefully.

“So why am I not in the cells then?” Eola asked, returning to her original question. Alexius waved to one of his men and a chest and folder of papers landed in front of her. Her darkspawn research.

“I can't read whatever cipher you've used and don't intend to waste time trying,” Alexius snapped. “But the diagrams at least do indicate it's genuine scholarship. So, you're going to continue it. Under my supervision. I want answers, Eola. Find me a Blight cure and maybe, just maybe, you and Enchanter Madanach might be allowed to leave. If you can find anywhere in Southern Thedas willing to host two apostates. I have a feeling Queen Anora may not be willing to extend sanctuary much longer.”

Eola didn't trust Alexius to honour any part of that offer, and if the arl had been kicked out and gone to his queen for aid, that meant they didn't have a lot of time before Alexius quit Redcliffe taking them who knew where. Which meant rescue would have to come soon.

Fortunately, Eola could sense Cicero, not far away now and seething with rage. Rescue wouldn't be long in coming.

“All right,” Eola sighed. “Look, I think I might have found something, but it's untested. There are side-effects and it might not even work. But if you have someone here infected with the Blight and they're not so far gone that they've lost their mind, I could talk with them, see if they're willing to be the test subject.”

Something like hope actually flickered in Alexius's eyes and he nodded. With excellent timing, Felix himself stuck his head round the door, calling to see how his father was.

“Felix, I told you not to – wait. Never mind. Everyone else, leave us. Felix, come here. You recall Enchanter Eola, don't you? She has a cure for...”

Alexius didn't say anything else, gesturing as the last Venatori soldier left the room, the door closing behind them.

“The Blight,” Felix finished. “You can say it, Dad, it won't make me any sicker.”

“That's not the-!” Alexius cried and Eola was suddenly reminded of her own father, and slowly something in her shifted as she realised behind the supervillain exterior was a terrified father going to lose his son. Well, wasn't there always. All the same though, she decided not to murder them all just yet.

“So Felix is your patient,” Eola mused. “You know, I could tell something was up. All right, maybe I can help… but I need to talk to Felix. Alone. And if he doesn't consent, then no deal.”

“Absolutely not-” Alexius began, face flushing red, and then Felix placed a hand on his arm.

“Dad. They're fair terms. I'm OK with them so far. Just give us a few minutes.”

“And if she tries something?” Alexius demanded. Felix just laughed.

“Then it's a quicker death than the Blight would have given me. Dad, don't worry, I'll be fine. Besides, she's a mage with an experimental treatment to try. She'll want to know if it works.”

Alexius gave in, but he did give a parting glare to Eola.

“Damage my son, and you won't even live to regret it,” Alexius tersely informed her and with that, he was gone. Felix returned to her side and sat down on a chair next to hers, elbow resting on the table.

“Are you all right?” he said quietly, guilt all over his face. “I swear, I had no idea he was on to you.”

“Is he on to you?” Eola asked. If Alexius had known the decoys for what they were, had he seen Felix with them? Fortunately, the answer turned out to be no.

“Doesn't suspect a thing,” Felix said, grinning. “There were reports saying I'd been out walking in the village at the time, but Dad just dismissed them. I am apparently above suspicion unless I smack betrayal right in his face.” Then Felix's face fell and he looked away guiltily. 

“It feels so wrong putting it like that,” Felix finally said quietly. “But what he's doing – indenturing the rebel mages, stealing a whole future they don't even remember having! And all this with the Venatori and that damn red lyrium, and the Elder One they've started worshipping… Eola, this is not right. We're turning into the villains the Chant of Light makes us out to be.”

Eola had neither read the Chant or bothered hearing it sung so this was lost on her, but she did know of Tevinter's reputation. Like a civilised version of the Reach, except with added slavery and genocide, apparently.

“Well, we're not done for yet,” Eola said, patting his arm. “My da's not an easy man to keep in prison unless for some reason he decides to stay there. Last time he was avoiding my ma, grieving my sister and keeping our enemies off us so we could rebuild. This time… he's got a wife he wants to get back to, a little girl out there who needs him and the rebel mages don't benefit from having him banged up. So we'll see. But don't count him out just yet.”

“I wasn't,” Felix said, smiling. “Went to check on him just now. He's still a bit groggy from the powders but he's awake, doing OK, and appeared to hear me when I told him where his gear was being kept. Just in case he needs it in a hurry or something.”

Eola decided there and then that Felix was all right and worth saving despite his father's terrible decisions.

“Right then,” Eola said briskly. “Your Blight cure. I do have one, and initial tests are promising, but I must stress it might not cure you. Worst case scenario, you end up as a Blight-infected werewolf.”

“I – what??” Felix cried and Eola patted his arm, trying to sound soothing.

“Werewolf,” Eola told him. “I am one. Drink a preparation of my blood and it'll purge the Blight. Only… it'll turn you into a werewolf too. First time you drink it, you'll change involuntarily. After that, you only change when you want to. Also knackers your sleep, but you don't really get tired either. I admit it's not ideal, but it's better than the Blight, no?”

Felix stared back, unblinking and then he grinned broadly.

“I'm in,” he said. “What do you need?”

Eola reached for a paper and quill, already delighted with the way this was going.

“I'll get a list of ingredients – mostly anticoagulants and magical preservatives. And a vial. When I have that, I'll make your vial for you and hand it over. You could tell your father everything and get him to help organise that first change, or you could go it alone in a secluded woodland clearing… or if you were feeling particularly inclined, you might bide your time a little while and drink it at a time or place to cause maximum chaos. But obviously that would be a terrible thing to do.”

“Obviously,” Felix smirked, waiting while Eola finished the list before getting up and taking it off her. “I'll pass this on to my father, see about organising all this for you. Don't worry, I'll keep him from hassling you in the meantime.”

Felix really was such a sweet boy. Eola smiled and retired to the bed, feeling Cicero down their empathy bond, sending little reassurances to him. All was not lost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Madanach by contrast had woken up in prison rags, in a dingy cell that made Cidhna Mine look homely. About the only saving grace was that at least no one was expecting him to do any mining. 

He had vague memories of that Tevinter Felix sitting by his side, whispering to him through the bars that Eola was all right, was being well-treated, he'd try to make sure Madanach wasn't abused either, and that his things were in the chest in the barrack room on the floor above. Which might actually be helpful in an escape attempt.

Madanach made a mental note to spare Felix when he broke out and murdered them all. As it was, Madanach wondered how long to wait for them to drop their guard. Not two decades, that was for sure. Not until Eola had been able to visit. Or Elisif staged a rescue. He still couldn't feel her properly. Something spewing out magicka was interfering with the bond – probably the Breach. He hoped so anyway, although the glowing red rocks in the cell opposite were not helping. Glowing red rocks that sang in his head. Not exactly a good thing in Madanach's view, but he had ways of dealing with that. One illusion spell later and suddenly he could no longer see or hear the stuff. Better. Madanach sat back and enjoyed the quiet.

At least until the prisoner in the cell next door started talking.

“How did you do that??”

Young. Male. Perky. Too damn perky, and clearly easily impressed.

“Magic,” Madanach snapped. “You're familiar with it, I trust?”

“Well yes, I know that!” the young man said, enthusiasm barely dimming. “But you stopped it! You stopped the singing!”

“I cast an illusion spell to make the rocks inaudible,” Madanach sighed wearily. “It's not the same thing. They're still there.”

“Not the rocks!” the man cried, sounding about ready to cry from sheer delight. “You made the Calling go away!”

Madanach rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Trust him to end up in a cell next to the prison lunatic. Cidhna Mine had had its fair share of lunatics but thankfully, none of them had ever bothered him. Apart from Cicero, but Cicero's tenure in Cidhna Mine had lasted a day before Madanach had launched the jailbreak. The two events were not directly connected, although Cicero's presence in the mine might well have prompted an early getaway anyway.

“I'm sorry, but I have no idea what in the Void you're talking about,” Madanach sighed. “What's the Calling?”

A pause and then his new friend spoke again.

“You don't know? Well, I suppose you wouldn't, it's a Warden thing. A Grey Warden thing. I was one once. Still am, I suppose, the taint doesn't go away. As the Calling proves. All Wardens hear it eventually. It's a sort of song in your mind, and it means you're, er, dying. I've been hearing it for weeks. I'm supposed to put my affairs in order, say my goodbyes, get my gear together and head into the Deep Roads to die fighting as many darkspawn as I can. Except I, er, haven't.”

“Clearly,” Madanach said, making himself comfortable because there was a story here, he could tell. “Did you fall foul of the Venatori as well?”

“Sort of,” the man sighed. “I was part of Arl Teagan's household. I was holding the line so he could get away when the magister arrived. Had to be me, you see, because I used to be a Templar, can still stop magic. And seeing as I was having the Calling anyway, if I died, it'd save me going back to the Deep Roads!” There was a definite note of cheery panic going on here, and Madanach couldn't help but warm to the speaker.

“Not a fan of the Deep Roads, I take it?” Madanach said, amused. He'd heard enough to know the Deep Roads were basically like one big joined up Dwemer ruin that was falling apart and full of darkspawn.

“Maker, no,” the man said, audibly shuddering. “Lyra and I once spent weeks down there hunting for this Dwarven paragon in order to persuade the dwarves to help stop the Blight. I still have nightmares about it. It was why I put off doing anything about the Calling. I do that, you see. No problem so big I can't run away from it.”

“But you didn't run away from here,” Madanach noted. “You can't be a coward.”

A long pause and then a long sigh.

“I'm not,” the man said quietly. “At least I don't think I am. I've fought darkspawn and dragons and werewolves and more darkspawn and the odd demon and… But I could have been a hero. I could have been King of Ferelden! I didn't want to be, but I could have been. But… Lyra made a decision I didn't agree with and I walked out. Left her, left the Wardens, left other people to sort the Blight out. Ended up in the Free Marches for years, until Arl Teagan found me and brought me home. I can't go to Denerim or Queen Anora will have me arrested, but if I stay here in Redcliffe and don't cause any trouble, she turns a blind eye. Name's Alistair, by the way. Alistair Theirin, although I mostly don't tell people my surname. Not sure why I told you but you made the Calling go away, so, um, thank you? For, you know, stopping me going completely mad.”

Madanach was definitely warming to him by this point. This Alistair clearly hadn't had the best life, and it definitely wasn't going well for him right now. Who knew how long he'd been here, lonely, desperate, slowly going mad and thinking he was going to die. Madanach decided that when he broke out, he could afford to take one more with him.

“Theirin not a good name to have?” Madanach said, sympathetically.

“You could say that,” Alistair laughed, sounding bitter over the whole thing. “It's, er, the name of the royal line of Ferelden. King Calenhad Theirin was the first proper Ferelden king. And, occasional Orlesian occupation aside, the last proper Theirin King was Cailan, who died in the Blight.”

“Was he your father?” Madanach asked, trying to work out why a king's son hadn't inherited the throne.

“Brother,” said Alistair quietly. “Half-brother. I never actually met him properly. King Maric Theirin wasn't exactly married to my mother. She was a maidservant here. I never knew her either. Arl Eamon raised me. I don't know why. He was Cailan's uncle – I mean, Queen Rowan had died years before I came along, my father wasn't unfaithful or anything, but all the same, apparently Eamon was willing to raise his brother-in-law's bastard on the quiet. Politics, I suppose.”

“Yeah. Politics,” Madanach said quietly, feeling his own guilt hit him as he thought of Argis, and how life was never easy for a king's bastard. Alistair seemed to have had it worse than most. At least Madanach had tried to look after his son, tried to be there. Alistair seemed to have been virtually abandoned. “Name's Madanach. Madanach ap Caradach. And I used to be – technically still am – a king. Not of anywhere you'll have heard of.”

Laughter from Alistair.

“Get out. How'd a king end up here? And king of where? Madanach… sounds a bit Fereldan, but your accent's all wrong. Marcher? Dwarven?”

“Reachman,” Madanach told him, grinning smugly. “See, said you'd never have heard of it. I'm not from round here, but somehow due to magical misadventure, my wife ended up in Ferelden, and I'm here trying to find her. Her name is Elisif and she's stunningly beautiful and can breathe fire.”

Silence from the other cell and then a rather confused “what, really?”

“Really,” Madanach promised. More silence and then:

“Is she a mage?? I mean, mages can get married where you're from? They don't have Templars?”

“No Templars,” Madanach promised. “No Chantry. Mages have full citizenship rights. Eight official gods and one of them's a god of magic.”

Madanach could hear shuffling on the other side of the wall, Alistair clearly moving nearer.

“And… are there unofficial gods?”

“Oh yes,” Madanach promised, barely containing his laughter. “But it's not considered the done thing to talk about them.”

“Wow,” Alistair breathed. “Bet you don't have any darkspawn either, do you?”

“Sorry. No,” Madanach admitted. The pitiful wail that came from Alistair's throat almost melted Madanach's heart.

“Can I come back with you?” Alistair pleaded. “Please? I'm no trouble! I can kill things! I clean up after myself! I look pretty on anyone's arm when I scrub up!”

“And won't Arl Teagan miss you?” Madanach asked, feeling very sorry for a man apparently willing to leave it all behind for a total stranger whose main selling points were his homeland had no Chantry and no darkspawn.

“Well, he might,” Alistair admitted after a pause. “But we're not actually related, not really, and I can't stay here living on his charity all my life. He won't mind me going off to seek my fortune in this Reach place.”

“But you don't even know anything about the place,” Madanach said, voice softening as his heart went out to the poor boy.

“I don't care,” Alistair said stubbornly. “Anything's better than being stuck in Ferelden, being reminded of what a fucking failure I am every fucking day. All Hail Queen Anora. Just because she's better at it than I would have been doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.”

Madanach could hear the heartbreak in his voice and wished he could see the boy. Well, boy was pushing it, Alistair might be in his thirties for all Madanach knew. He'd mentioned the Blight. The Blight had been a decade ago, so he was likely at least twenty eight and possibly older. 

Still young enough to be Madanach's son though.

“Who was Lyra?” Madanach asked, changing the subject. “You mentioned her earlier. Said you went to the Deep Roads with her but later fell out.”

“What- are you serious?” Alistair said, amazed. “You've never heard of _Lyra Surana_?? The Hero of Ferelden? Slayer of the Archdemon? Warden-Commander of Ferelden and even Arl of Amaranthine for her trouble?”

“No,” Madanach admitted. “Never even heard of the Blight until I got here. I did see the monument to the Hero of Ferelden in the village – wait, you knew the Hero of Ferelden?? Personally?”

“I was a Warden until my stupid younger self threw a tantrum and walked out,” Alistair said quietly. “Looking back, I still don't agree with her but I do at least understand now. She didn't want to waste a potential resource. I wish I could tell her that, but that means tracking her down and saying sorry and… I just can't face her.”

“Tell me the story,” Madanach said impulsively, sensing Alistair hadn't talked to anyone about this, not recently, perhaps not ever. “I managed to avoid the Blight due to being in prison a long way from here. I wouldn't mind hearing about it from someone who was there.”

“Prison??” Alistair sounded like he couldn't decide whether to be impressed or appalled. “What did you do? How'd you get out?”

“Led an uprising. Killed a load of people. Including several corrupt landowners and a Jarl,” Madanach smirked, having learned nothing from prison other than how to do a better job of hanging on to his kingdom next time. “Got sent down for life. Only avoided execution because I was too useful to kill. I bided my time and then led a jailbreak.”

Silence. Then…

“ _Seriously??_ ”

“Yes,” Madanach said proudly. “And if you tell me about the Blight, I will tell you about my misadventures. How does that sound?”

“Done,” Alistair said instantly. “All right, here's how it all started. I grew up here in Arl Eamon's household, but ended up in the Chantry from about age ten onwards, because Arl Eamon's wife hated me. They were training me up for the Templars and I'd made it as a recruit by about age eighteen but was heroically resisting taking actual vows due to not fancying spending my entire life babysitting mages. That was when Duncan of the Grey Wardens visited looking for Warden recruits...”

And so Madanach heard the whole story of the Blight, of how Alistair joined the Wardens and went with Duncan to Ostagar when word of a darkspawn army first arrived, and how Duncan went to Ferelden's Circle to see if they had any suitable mage candidates for the Wardens, returning with a newly-Harrowed red-haired elf called Lyra Surana. And then followed a story of adventures, heroics, a cynical and abrasive sorceress called Morrigan, a flirty elven assassin called Zevran who'd tried to kill Lyra and ended up falling in love with her instead, a bard called Leliana who'd claimed the Maker had told her to join them, a Circle healer called Wynne, a Qunari warrior called Sten, a golem called Shale, a drunken dwarf called Oghren and Lyra's mabari dog which Lyra had named Fen'Harel, after elven legends of the feared Dread Wolf. They'd gone to the Dalish elves, the dwarves, Fereldan Circle of Magi, saved Redcliffe from itself, and finally gone to Denerim where they'd helped the late King Cailan's widow Anora seize power from her usurper father. And that was where it had gone to the Void.

“Arl Eamon wanted me to take over as King,” Alistair sighed. “I didn't want to, but didn't want to let him down. There was even talk of me marrying Anora. I… I mean, she's pretty but she's _terrifying_. You know how some girls will go all giggly and silly to make men think they're harmless?”

Not firsthand, no. None of his ever had, and Kaie and Eola had already been training Sofie never to do this. But he was aware of women in some cultures playing down their intelligence to ensure men around them didn't feel threatened.

“Well, Anora doesn't,” Alistair said, shuddering. “Anora's really bright, very capable and doesn't bother hiding it. She's older than me too, and… well, anyway, the thought of marrying her made me want to run away and hide in terror. I'd rather fight through the Deep Roads again.”

“I've got a daughter a bit like that,” Madanach said fondly, thinking of Kaie… and Eola, come to think of it. “Two in fact – don't worry, they're both married. One's got a wife who can punch through bricks and the other's got a husband who likes women with an intimidating persona.”

“That's… nice?” Alistair said faintly. “Er. I'm very happy for them. But I don't think that's my type. I think I'd rather have someone nice? Someone who likes kittens and puppies and flowers and rainbows and long walks in the moonlight! Or… or just some of that? I'm not fussy.”

Madanach wasn't a sentimental man by nature, but there was something about Alistair that was tugging at his heartstrings a bit. He just sounded so lonely. Madanach wished he could give the man a hug and tell him it was going to be all right, but alas, he was stuck in his cell. For now anyway.

“You were going to tell me about the Landsmeet,” Madanach prodded. “You and Lyra were going to overthrow Teyrn Loghain?”

“Yeah,” Alistair sighed. “That was when the trouble started. We won the fight, we got him kicked out, we were going to execute him! Except Lyra decided death was too good for him. She said she wanted to conscript him instead. And… and I was barely twenty and stupid and the bastard had let Duncan die at Ostagar! I lost my temper and shouted at her. We argued, she tried to talk me into staying, but I refused to listen and told her I was done with the Wardens if he was joining. Of course, then Anora decided she was going to have me executed as a potential rival if I left the Wardens, and bloody Lyra talked her out of it and persuaded her to commute it to exile instead. I didn't even get to be a martyr. I had to leave my home forever, leave everyone I've ever known, and just… I just drifted. It was four years later before Arl Teagan, Eamon's younger brother, came and found me and told me Anora had calmed down enough to let me back in the country, as long as I didn't leave Redcliffe. So here I am. Wasting my life. I'm thirty years old, fucking _thirty_ , and I have screwed up so badly, there should be a monument to me in Denerim Market. Alistair Theirin, the man descended from a dragon-blooded king, who went on to nobly and bravely piss it all away! All Hail the Last Theirin, long may he continue to waste away in the Hinterlands!”

Madanach wasn't listening. He'd heard the phrase 'dragon-blooded king' and stopped right there. Dragon-blooded. King. Royal bloodline of kings and queens with dragon blood, allegedly, and Alistair here was its last known member.

_You have got to be kidding me._

Definitely taking him with him though. Elisif was just going to love this. _Look, cariad, I found a baby Dragonborn from Thedas, and he's adorable, can we keep him? You could teach him how to breathe fire, it'll be the cutest thing you ever saw!_

Madanach couldn't even picture Elisif's response to this one. Come to think of it, he couldn't even picture Alistair, which was a damn shame as Madanach had a feeling he was rather attractive. Alas, Madanach probably wasn't his type.

“Dragon-blooded king?” Madanach said quietly. “Is that… literal? I mean, can you breathe fire or anything?”

“What??” And now Alistair was actually laughing. “Maker's breath… no. No, I can't. Only magical abilities I've got are being able to sense darkspawn, and being able to stop magic. Wish I could though! Don't know what I'd do with it but breathing fire? Fantastic! But as for dragon blood… in my case, it's sadly a metaphor. King Calenhad Theirin is said to have done some sort of ritual involving the blood of dragons that gave him the powers of a super warrior, but I don't know if I inherited any of it. I don't think even he could breathe fire.”

“Maybe you could learn,” Madanach said softly, thinking this was either a great or terrible idea, but he had to find out, he just had to. “There might be a way… if you really are Dragonborn. My wife might be able to teach you.”

Silence. Alistair had gone very quiet over there, for what seemed to be a long time, and when he finally spoke, he sounded very strange indeed.

“That word… Dragonborn. The way you said it… like it's a thing where you're from. And the way you wanted to know if I really could breathe fire… Maker's balls, Madanach, are you seriously saying there's a word for people with dragon blood and they can breathe fire?”

“That is what I said,” Madanach said, grinning as he settled in to tell his story. “Want to know more?”

“Yes – I mean, what?” Alistair said, by now utterly bewildered. “Wait a minute, you said your wife… you seriously married someone who can breathe fire??”

“Oh absolutely,” Madanach said, before the confused little wail from next door reminded him that not everyone dealt well with their spouse breathing fire.

“You'd like her!” Madanach called to him. “She's nice! She's pretty! She likes kittens and puppies and rainbows and butterflies and babies and sunshine and all that! And she can breathe fire and she once wiped out a castle full of vampire lords.”

“Maker's breath,” Alistair whispered, sounding half-terrified… but he clearly wasn't all terrified, because he'd faced demons and darkspawn and all sorts of things, and part of him sounded intrigued and a little bit impressed. “So how did you meet her, and was this before or after you were in prison, and how'd you end up here?”

“During my time in prison,” Madanach told him, really enjoying the confused noises coming from the other side of the wall. “Yeah, she got arrested for something she didn't do because of politics, she told me her story and I decided it was time to launch the jailbreak. Want to hear the whole thing? It's exciting! There's dragons.”

“Yes!” Alistair cried, sounding rather like a small boy desperately wanting his father to tell him a story. “Er… I mean, yes please, Madanach. I would love to.”

“All right then, bion,” Madanach purred. “Make yourself comfortable and I'll begin.”

And so Madanach began to tell the combined histories of Madanach the King in Rags and Elisif the Dragonborn, and how they met, joined forces, took on the world and in the process fell in love, got married, killed a god, stopped a war and rejuvenated a failing Empire. And as he'd predicted, Alistair lapped up every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, had to have Alistair. If you've read the Dragon Age comic series The Silent Grove, you'll know that the Theirin line are also said to be dragon-blooded. So I've decided to make use of that, and here we have Alistair the Southern Dragonborn. It remains to be seen how Elisif will react, although I think Maia will like him. Madanach certainly does. :D


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chargers arrive in Haven, bringing dire news from Redcliffe... and turning Elisif's life upside down as she's reunited with the last person she expected to come after her, but probably the most missed. As the War Council convene to discuss dealing with Alexius, one thing is certain - the Inquisition will never be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pleasantly surprised by everyone's reactions to Alistair. I deliberately kept his appearance quiet, gave very little away when asked, revealed nothing. And I was greeted by many reviews all going OMG ALISTAIR! Yes, he's in it, and he's actually joining the Inquisition as opposed to just being the Warden Hawke brings in (that job goes to Loghain, oh won't THAT be fun!). His interactions with Madanach and Elisif will be very interesting indeed, I'm sure.
> 
> But he's not in this chapter, sadly. This chapter is back to Haven as something happens that has really needed to for some time - Maia and Elisif finally reunite! Elisif's delighted to see her baby again... but less so when she hears just what's been happening to the poor thing.

Another day in Haven, and the town was gearing up for action. Everyone was talking about the mage rebellion and how they were going to help seal the Breach. Leliana had already sent people out to Redcliffe, and Cullen was already sorting out some escorts, including a few Templars to keep an eye on them. Just because Elisif had insisted, and her husband was apparently in charge of the militarisation of the mages, didn't mean Cullen had to like the idea or trust the mages. Quite the reverse. Hadn't Andraste been sold out by her own husband in the end, also a military genius of sorts?

Maferath. Madanach. Even the names sounded similar. Cullen hadn't even met the man and already he distrusted him. It paid to be wary. If he represented a danger, Cullen would need to act, and act fast. Elisif would never see it coming, Elisif would never see the danger, just as Andraste never had.

Cullen didn't intend to make the same mistake. And so he drilled his Templars and planned to make sure they knew to keep watch. Cullen was not going to be caught unawares.

“Commander!”

One of the recruits with a report, Cullen presumed. Well, not quite, it turned out.

“Commander, the Bull's Chargers are here, what did you want to do with them?” the young recruit asked, and while Cullen didn't instinctively trust mercenaries, or Qunari (hard to, after Kirkwall), he'd take genuine offers of help.

“I'll see them,” Cullen promised and went to see the party of mercenaries for himself.

Iron Bull was unmistakeable, a foot taller than most and with horns nearly as wide as his shoulders. He had with him humans of varying appearance and skin colour, two elves, a dwarf, oh, and two redhaired individuals, one in a red and black hat with points and the other a woman with pointed ears but skin a colour you normally didn't see on elves, kneeling down to talk to someone else, who was obscured by the sulky-looking mage who looked rather Tevinter to Cullen's eyes. 

“Commander Cullen?” The Iron Bull strode forward, grinning as he held out a hand. “Good to see you. Krem has been telling me all about this place.”

Krem? Oh yes, the young man who'd been here before. Cullen recognised him now. He'd been too distracted at the time to really take him in, but since then, and a terse conversation with Leliana about the need to sort out a proper policy on mercenaries and the hiring thereof, he'd had time to consider the Chargers. They looked a motley group, but at the same time, Cullen wouldn't want to fight them. Not after reading the references Josephine had found on them from Orlais.

“I imagine he has,” Cullen said, taking Bull's hand and determining to make up for any previous messing around. “We're a new organisation, still finding our feet. But your offer of assistance is a valuable one and we're pleased to have you. Knight-Captain Rylen here will find you accommodation, won't you, Rylen?”

Rylen sauntered up, grinning as he beckoned the Chargers to follow him, Templar armour gleaming in the sunshine – Rylen might have left the Order in order to actually do something useful, but he'd refused to discard perfectly serviceable armour, and the Inquisition wasn't so flush with cash that it could afford to provide arms and armour to soldiers who already had their own. Which was why a high-pitched scream suddenly echoed round Haven.

Everyone turned to look, and the source turned out to be a red-haired little girl in fur gear, likely not more than about five or so, eyes wide in terror as she clung on to the woman with her, the redhaired sort-of elf who'd gasped in horror and moved to shield the little one, while the man with them in the black and red armour and a harlequin hat had looked up and bared his teeth, drawing knives and advancing.

“No further,” he growled at Rylen. “Cicero was not told there were Templars here!”

“What in the Void got into him??” Rylen cried, and even the Chargers were starting to go for their own weapons… until Bull stepped in.

“Hey. No call for that, Cicero. Man's just doing his job. Commander Cullen, don't mind Cicero. He's just protecting the little one.”

The little one in question was sobbing hysterically into the elf's robes and Cullen couldn't make out the words but the girl looked terrified, and it had been Rylen that had set her off. Why would a little girl fear Templars?

A mage child would. Or the child of a mage who feared them taking her parent away. Maker's breath.

“Rylen, show the rest of the Chargers to their tents,” Cullen sighed. “I'll deal with this.” Why the Chargers had a little girl with them was beyond him, but the man in the hat hadn't lowered his extremely sharp daggers once.

At least not until Bull stepped forward and placed a hand on Cicero's shoulder before nodding at Krem.

“Krem, go with Rylen, take the others with you. I'll stay here with Cicero, Liriel, Baby Mage and the Vint, sort this out. We've got to find the little one's mother anyway. I'll join you in the tavern later.”

“No worries, Chief,” Krem said cheerfully, leading the others after Rylen. “I'll make sure to have a drink ready and waiting. Come on, let's go.”

Rylen led the bulk of the Chargers away, booted feet trudging across the snow, leaving Cullen alone with a suspect mage, a big Qunari, a mysterious elf who'd got to her feet and proven to be taller than him with inhuman golden eyes that were staring right through him, a vicious killer in a hat, and a terrified little girl who was only now creeping out, whispering something that sounded a bit like “ik wunsha mama!”

“She's young for a mercenary,” Cullen said, kneeling down to get a better look at her. “Is she one of yours?” He looked at Cicero, who was still glaring at him but had at least put his daggers away.

“No,” the elf, presumably Liriel, snapped. “We're looking for her mother. Come no closer, human. You are frightening her, and I will not have children in my charge frightened.”

“Spoken like a true Tamassran,” Bull said, grinning at Liriel, clearly approving, and was Liriel some sort of Qunari then? Cullen swore she didn't look like any Qunari he'd ever seen, but there were hornless ones and it wasn't like he'd ever seen a female...

“She is Cicero's little sister by marriage,” Cicero said tersely, folding his arms and moving to stand in front of the little girl. “Cicero was told her mother is here. Little Maia is frightened of Templars after one found out she was a mage and swung a sword at her. That one is dead and Cicero helped deal with others in the vicinity. Cicero is… displeased to find them here. Cicero hopes there will be no… unpleasantness. Cicero would hate for anyone to become overzealous in their duty.”

By the Maker. Cullen had heard of families not wanting to part with mage youngsters and for Templars to occasionally have to get rough, but rarely had anyone put up serious opposition on principle. Most families understood in the end. It was very clear indeed that Cicero understood nothing of the sort and wouldn't hesitate to do whatever he had to to protect Maia, and Cullen wasn't sure the Chargers wouldn't take his side. Liriel almost certainly would.

In a way, the mage-Templar war was perhaps a good thing under the circumstances. 

“They're not Templars any more, not officially,” Cullen sighed. “We – a lot of us – left the order because they cared more about slaughtering innocent mages than protecting the people of Thedas. Many of us came to the Inquisition because we felt we could do a better job here. We're not – we're not intending to force mages into a Circle or kill them. Not any more.” He turned to Maia, who was just a little girl when all was said and done. Cullen wasn't exactly used to children, but even he wasn't immune to the unhappiness in this one's eyes.

“I'm sorry, little one,” he said quietly. “Rylen's not a bad man, and he'd never attack a child. Worst he'd do would be to stop your magic if an accident happened, but even then he'd just turn you over to your family afterwards. None of the Templars here would attack you. I promise.”

Maia stared back at him, eyes wide and scared as she clutched a little toy frog in her hands then glanced nervously up at Cicero, who at least had softened a bit. Cicero smiled a bit and patted the girl before saying something else in a language Cullen didn't recognise… or did he? The accent was familiar.

Maia didn't look convinced and turned to Liriel for confirmation, who said something else in the same language, something that seemed to help because Maia brightened up a little and whispered something back to Cicero that sounded like “be swornen te?” 

“Be swornen mi,” Cicero murmured, kneeling down next to her and stroking her cheek. Maia actually smiled before cuddling Cicero, who hugged her back and held her to him, before looking back up at Cullen.

“Commander Cullen keeps this promise, no harm will come to him or his troops,” Cicero cooed. “Cicero is fond of Maia! Maia is good and sweet and does what she is told! The first time! Without arguing! Maia is a credit to her mama, and Cicero heard Maia's mama is here. We're looking for her.”

Maia was looking hopefully up at him, clearly having understood at least some of that, and Cullen got to his feet, looking at the final member of the group, the one with the staff on his back who Bull had called the Vint, and who was clearly not exactly trusted by the others. With good reason if he really was a Tevinter mage.

“And who's this?” Cullen asked. “Is he a Charger as well?”

Bull glanced at Cicero, and they both looked at the Tevinter, and then both men burst out laughing, Bull's roars from deep within his chest and Cicero's demented howling both echoing across the valley and drawing attention from all over, while the mage glared at them both, Liriel rolled her eyes and sighed “really! Boys, behave!” and Maia looked a bit confused before frowning and telling Cicero off in her own language. 

Cicero slowly pulled himself together, drying his eyes and shaking his head, even as Bull coughed and stopped laughing and lowered his head, saying “yes, ma'am, sorry ma'am” to Liriel.

“No, he is not a Charger,” Cicero finally said. “He claims he is not a Tevinter spy, but he would say _that._ ” This was followed by a pointed glare at the mage.

“I'm not a-!” The mage threw up his hand and appealed to Cullen. “Look, I'm a mage, yes, from Tevinter, yes, but I'm not a spy for the Venatori! I turned them down! Twice! I'm trying to help! I helped get Maia away from Redcliffe, and now I need to speak with the Herald. Urgently. The mages are in trouble and I'm informed she will be able to help. My name's Dorian Pavus and I will happily tell her everything I know. And if we can find this little one's mother in the process, that will be even better. Apparently she's called Elisif and looks just like Maia. Except taller, I'd imagine.”

What. _What?? Elisif???_ Cullen stared at Maia and realised with dawning horror that yes, they did look similar, very similar, the hair was identical and he even recognised the accent now. It was the same as Elisif's and although he didn't understand the words, he'd heard bits of the language, when Elisif started speaking without thinking, forgetting no one else understood her language. And hadn't Leliana mentioned there was a child, a little girl back home.

That little girl wasn't back home any more. The advance party sent to look for her had brought her with them. Had her father not wanted to leave his little girl behind, or not felt it safe to? Evidently, which then begged the question – if her father had been that concerned, where was he?? Why had he sent his little girl away from Redcliffe with her brother-in-law, a strange elf and an unknown Tevinter for company?

Well, a halfway decent father wouldn't, not unless the alternative was worse. Which did not bode well for Redcliffe.

“I know an Elisif,” Cullen said quietly, getting to his feet. “You'd better – you'd better all come with me. Let's find her.”

Maia perked up and immediately ran over to his side, smiling up at him shyly. While her ability to speak the language clearly wasn't so good, or took work, she seemed to understand most of what was being said to her.

Cicero had taken one look and cried the girl's name followed by an outraged string of words in their native language, at least until Maia had looked back and called “aber Cicero, el konnen Mama!” at which point Cicero had muttered something under his breath, before plastering on his brightest smile and scampering up to stand on Maia's other side.

Cullen tried to ignore that steely, unblinking gaze and the unmoving far-too-wide smile, but honestly it wasn't an easy thing, not at all. Best to find Elisif, quickly, and hand over both the cute little child and the demented lunatic and let her deal with them. At least the elf-Qunari seemed sane, even if she hadn't stopped glaring at him since her arrival, and made a point of taking Maia's free hand in hers and interposing herself between the two of them.

And so, with Iron Bull behind him keeping a watchful eye on Dorian, Cullen went in search of the Herald of Andraste.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

 

The sight of any one of them would have drawn attention – a Tevinter mage, a six foot tall golden-skinned elf who seemed as imperious as any Orlesian noble, a nearly seven foot tall Qunari with horns, a scared little girl with a frog, and of course, the harlequin with the demented grin and the knives. The sight of them all together brought notice and before long a crowd had gathered, all watching from a distance but definitely watching – including one dwarf who had a feeling the story had just taken an unexpected turn, and an elven mage who'd taken one look at Liriel and made his way forward, staring in amazement.

“That one is staring at me,” Liriel announced, glaring back and looking most uncomfortable. “I mean, they're all staring at me. But that one is staring more. It's bothering me.”

Bull followed her gaze and patted her on the shoulder. 

“Ah, don't worry. I'll sort him out for you.” Without another word, The Iron Bull broke off and strode over to where Solas had stopped staring at Liriel and started looking rather less awestruck at Bull.

Oh gods, this was all Cullen needed, the Chargers assaulting Inquisition people. Mercifully, Bull was a professional, not a thug, and settled for standing in front of Solas with his arms folded, staring the elf down.

“You mind not looking at Ms. Liriel?” Bull said, eyes narrowed. “Lady's just going about her business. She doesn't need strange men staring at her.”

Solas opened his mouth as if to object, then closed it again, frowning as his entire demeanour closed up.

“Ah. She is one of you. I had thought – that is, I had hoped – never mind. I shall trouble her no further.”

He shot Liriel a look combining disgust and disappointment in equal measure, and Liriel flinched away, feeling stung and guilty and ashamed and not knowing why that had hurt as much as it did. Bull actually growled.

“Keep. Your. Distance,” Bull snarled, and backed off, returning to where Liriel was looking awkward and uncomfortable and not how any woman should ever look in Bull's eyes, especially not a proud Tamassran-alike like Liriel. (Apart from the magic, no Tamassran would ever have magic, and Bull wasn't at all sure what he thought about that, because on the one hand the Qun was right about most things and Saarebas were generally not safe to allow to go wandering around unbound, but on the other, the thought of Liriel with her mouth sewn shut and bound up in heavy chains just seemed so wrong.)

“Come on,” Cullen said wearily as Bull returned, about done with elven mages and overbearing Qunari and potentially murderous harlequins for one day. “Let's go. I think I can hear her – yes, there she is, talking with Leliana.”

Arguing, more like. The Herald's voice was audible over the main campfire, where she was in the spymaster's tent, having what was definitely a disagreement.

“Leliana, we can't just go round murdering people!” Elisif cried, appalled. “Even if they did betray us.”

“Betray us?” Leliana gasped. “He's killed Farrier! And knows where the others are! We can't just let him go free! He could undo us all!”

“Well, I didn't say we just let him go unpunished either!” Elisif sighed. “But we can't just assassinate wrongdoers! We're better than that, aren't we? We owe him a chance to defend his actions. A trial. At the very least, find out why he turned against us and if he can lead us to potential enemies. If we kill him, we kill one traitor. Offer him mercy if he shares his information and we might learn something.”

Silence from Leliana and then a frustrated inhalation.

“You clearly feel strongly about this,” Leliana said, staring back at Elisif. Elisif wasn't wearing her full armour or the Jagged Crown, preferring her Avvar-style fur parka for day wear in Haven, hood down and red hair fully on show. Light red hair, the forelocks braided and tied back behind her head in traditional Nord style. Hair the exact same colour as little Maia's.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” Varric whispered, looking between Elisif and Maia and seeing for himself, and he was not the only one reaching similar conclusions. See Maia on her own, and you might think she looked familiar if you knew Elisif but not realise they were kin. See them together and it was undeniable. Especially when Maia was staring at Elisif, mouth opening, eyes widening and shaking all over as she let go of Liriel's hand and clutched at her frog toy.

“Yes. I do,” Elisif said firmly, staring down her spymaster, and Leliana sighed and nodded at the underling who'd been watching all this nervously.

“Fine, we'll do this your way,” Leliana sighed. “Bring him in, alive if possible. We'll question him at the very least. We might learn _something._ ”

The agent nodded and went off to make the arrangements, and Elisif finally smiled, inclining her head towards Leliana. 

“Thank you,” Elisif said, and even if Leliana didn't exactly agree with this course of action, she didn't disagree enough to argue. Then she looked up and saw the little group waiting outside her tent. A big Qunari glaring at an awkward-looking Tevinter, a grinning, bouncing Harlequin whose grin made even Leliana nervous, Varric shooting amazed looks between Elisif and a little girl who'd just been holding the hand of a woman who might be Qunari but didn't quite fit, not to Leliana's eyes. A little girl with long red hair with braided forelocks and dressed in a fur parka, and who was staring at Elisif as if she were Andraste come again.

Hadn't Cassandra said Elisif had a little girl? Mae, Mara, something like that? And wasn't Elisif's husband Madanach said to be in Thedas looking for her?

Leliana sincerely hoped the too-cheerful man in the hat wasn't Madanach.

As it was, Elisif had stopped short in her tracks, eyes not leaving the little girl.

“Maia?” Elisif whispered, voice catching in her throat, and by this point, quite the crowd was gathering, including Mother Giselle, Josephine and Solas, all wanting to know what was going on, and just what was this little refugee girl to the Herald exactly?

“Mama?” the little girl whispered, sounding like she was about to cry, and Elisif nodded and knelt down, holding out her arms.

“Baby!” Elisif gasped, by now likewise sounding on the edge of tears, and little Maia finally answered everyone's questions about who she was.

“MAMA!” Maia cried, finally running into her mother's arms, and Elisif swept her up and caught her without another word or even a sign of hesitation, just a mother responding instinctively to her baby's cry. Mother and child, kneeling together on Haven's snows, clinging on to each other, Maia sobbing into Elisif's furs, finally feeling safe enough to bawl her eyes out, safe in the arms of the one who loved her more than anything, and Elisif held on to her precious little pixie girl who she'd missed more than anything, worried about more than anything, and how in the Void was her baby here??

Elisif couldn't think about that, not right now. The important thing was that Maia was here, clinging on to her and wailing in her arms, sobbing “Mama Mama Mama” over and over again, making no sense whatsoever but clearly distressed and heartbroken, and oh gods, this was Elisif's fault, she should never have left her, her poor baby was terrified, look at her!

“I'm sorry,” Elisif whispered helplessly. “I'm so sorry! It's all right, baby, I'm here, I'm here. Mama's here. I've got you. I'm here. I'm here.”

“Mama,” Maia whispered, clinging on to her. “Mama!” Then Maia looked up, gasping.

“Nooo, Mama, we have to go, we have to find Daddy, he's in trouble, you have to save him and Eola, Mama!”

Maia looked genuinely distressed, and while Elisif didn't know whether to be relieved or aggrieved that it wasn't her absence alone that had caused the problem, the thought of Madanach in trouble had a way of focusing her attention.

“Where is he. What happened. How did you get here?” Elisif said softly, hating to pressure her but needing to know everything she could.

“We escaped, Liriel and Dorian and me,” Maia whispered. “Then Cicero found us on the road and then he got the Chargers to help, and we all came here to find you. Daddy said to get you, you'd help!”

None of which really clarified anything, but Elisif had been briefed on the Bull's Chargers joining the cause and as for Cicero…

She looked up and saw the man himself beaming at her.

“PRETTY ELISIF!” Cicero squealed, holding out his arms. “We have FOUND YOU!” 

Next thing Elisif knew, Cicero was cuddling her, cooing and trilling and generally being a bit too enthusiastic in his affections, and then he let her go and was pulling her to her feet, even as Maia scrambled out of the way. 

“Come, come, you must help, you must, you must!” Cicero was chirping, already leading her off. “Pretty Eola is in trouble! The nasty Venatori have taken Redcliffe over and taken her prisoner, we must rescue her and teach this magister the error of his ways!”

“Cicero, wait!” Elisif cried, and while Cullen was quite willing to let Maia do as she wished with Elisif, Cicero arriving and making off with the Herald was another matter entirely.

“All right, that's enough, I don't know what you want with the Herald and I don't care, but she's going nowhere,” Cullen snapped, placing a hand to Cicero's chest, and it could have ended badly, as Cicero started to growl, teeth bared and hand going to his knife, and then Elisif lost patience.

“CICERO!” Elisif snapped, Thu'um lacing her voice, and the air shook, snow falling off the Chantry roof and some nervous Chantry sisters darting inside. And Cicero let his dagger go and turned to her, giggling nervously and wringing his hands as he started the usual cosying and cooing.

“But Elisif, dearest Madanach and sweet Eola are in _trouble!_ ” Cicero pleaded.

Quite, Elisif had gathered that, but what she needed was facts and details. And Cicero wasn't presently being a reliable source of either.

Mercifully, he wasn't the only adult present. Elisif recognised Liriel, and while she'd always been a bit wary around Keirine's impossibly pretty, frighteningly competent, magically gifted steward, seeing her here was nothing short of a relief.

“Liriel, thank Stendarr, what are you all doing here??” Elisif gasped, reaching out to greet her.

Liriel smiled and had no problem returning the hug, having grown used to Nords greeting anyone they knew and didn't want to kill like that.

“Looking for you, of course,” Liriel said crisply. “High Queen, you disappeared unexpectedly and without any warning or preparation, and everything since then has started falling apart without you. So a small group of us managed to come here to Tir Nua – or Thedas, I suppose we need to call it now – so we could track you down and bring you home. Except now it turns out the place is falling apart and is in urgent need of fixing. Your Eminence, if I may say so, this country is _barbaric._ They think _humans_ are closer to Auriel than elves are, and they _locked up_ mages!”

Elisif decided the attitudes regarding the relative proximity of various races to the gods was something she was definitely not going to comment on until evidence one way or the other came to light. But she could agree that imprisoning everyone with even a shred of magic power was an overreaction.

“You're not far wrong,” Elisif said, rather glad this conversation wasn't being held in Thedosian. “And I don't think I can go back yet. Not until we've fixed the Veil.”

“Ugh, the Veil, don't get me started on the state of the Veil on this side of the world,” Liriel said, shuddering. “I don't know who or what set it up, but for it to be this fragile… I mean, yes, a blood sacrifice of this Divine of theirs probably hasn't helped, but if she was just an ordinary human woman, that shouldn't break the Veil like this without either some serious magic going on or the Veil being shoddily put together in the first place.” Then Liriel shook herself down and reached out to touch Elisif's arm. “Never mind that. Madanach and Eola came with us and they're in trouble. All Redcliffe is in trouble! Cicero tells me there was going to be an alliance between the Inquisition and the rebel mages. Well, on behalf of the Grand Enchanter and Enchanter-General, I'm invoking it. We need your help.”

Elisif couldn't help but shiver, looking down at the terrified five year old clinging to her, and the jester assassin also wringing his hands and staring despairingly at her, and while Maia was still little and Cicero the type to overreact to everything, Liriel's fears were truly worrying.

“What happened?” Elisif whispered. “What's gone wrong in Redcliffe?”

“Dorian here may be able to explain better than I can, seeing as it's his former friends who caused the problem,” Liriel said, beckoning another man over as she switched back to Thedosian, a light-brown skinned man about Elisif's age who wore a stylised moustache, a tight leather outfit that exposed more skin than was really healthy for anyone, and a weary expression of despair. “High Queen, this is Dorian Pavus, and he's a magister's apprentice from Tevinter, or used to be before he and his patron had a falling-out. Dorian, this is High Queen Elisif, Herald of Andraste, tell her what you told us.”

Dorian stepped forward, managing a smile as he glanced down at Maia then back to Elisif.

“Are you really the Herald of Andraste?” he said, curiosity slipping back into his voice. “And… Maia's mother? Good gracious. You know, I've travelled with Liriel and Cicero both for nearly three days, not to mention little Maia, not a single one mentioned we were travelling with the Herald's little girl herself.”

“It was need-to-know only,” Liriel said apologetically. Cicero did not share her feelings.

“The Tevinter mage has not proved himself yet,” Cicero said darkly, glaring at Dorian. “The Tevinter mage might still be in league with these… Venatori for all we know. When the Tevinter mage has helped rescue pretty Eola, Cicero may reconsider. But we decided it would be safer no one knew who Maia's mama was until she was restored to her.”

Elisif put an arm round Maia, understanding the need but wishing her daughter hadn't been in danger in the first place.

“Well, now she has been, but we need her father too,” Elisif said, fighting panic at the thought of what might be happening to Madanach, not feeling able to rely on her marital bond with the Breach interfering… but it turned out the direction and distance were being accurately relayed, more or less, if he was still in Redcliffe. Not dead and not in pain. It was something. “So what happened. Where is he?”

“A prisoner,” Dorian said sombrely. “A prisoner of the magister who's taken over Redcliffe. I made contact in secret to warn him of the terrible danger, and we tried to escape… but Alexius caught us. Eola caused a distraction so the rest of us could escape and we'd got to safety, but the stupid bas- the stupid man stayed back! He stayed back to help Eola and told us to run, so we did and… well, we're here. Last thing he said to us was to find you and get you to help. So here we are. I hope you can help. Madanach seemed extremely confident that you could. Was he wrong?”

Of course not, but the mage rebellion just being taken over by a Tevinter magister, when the rebellion already knew it had an alliance with the Inquisition there for the taking… it all sounded extremely unlikely to Elisif, and while she could definitely see her husband refusing to abandon Eola to her fate and consequently getting taken prisoner, what she couldn't fathom was how it had come to that. Why Madanach wouldn't have rather sent both daughters to safety then organised a fight against the Tevinters. He'd have little to lose and more to the point, would only have had to hold out until the Inquisition arrived. Elisif would have expected an experienced commander like Madanach to hold… unless somehow things had changed.

“This makes no sense,” Elisif whispered. “Madanach's Enchanter-General, he was in charge of the rebellion's military! Why was he running away?”

Dorian looked up, weary and grief-stricken and unhappy and looking like he didn't want to talk about it either. It was actually Josephine who spoke up.

“We received this by messenger from Redcliffe this morning. It is from a magister Gereon Alexius who claims to speak on the rebellion's behalf, offering to discuss terms for the rebellion's assistance in sealing the Breach… if you visit in person. He writes of you in the highest and most complimentary of terms.”

“That almost certainly means he's planning to kill you,” Leliana added, smiling thinly. 

“He's a bad man!” Maia cried, pouting. “He's mean and nasty and he made everyone forget! He made Daddy forget he'd been Enchanter-Gen'ril!”

Maia looked outraged and appalled and Elisif didn't blame her. Made Madanach forget. Fucked about with her husband's memory, as if it hadn't been messed-up enough.

“Cullen,” Elisif managed to get out. “Get Cassandra. Then we're all going to the war room for discussion. You, me, Josie, Leliana, Cassandra. Liriel, Cicero and Dorian too, and I'm bringing Maia. I'm fu- I'm going to find this man and kill him and then I'm retrieving my husband. I swear by Stendarr, I… come on.”

Elisif turned and walked into the Chantry, Maia clinging to her. She didn't even wait to see if the others were following her. Her war table. She needed the war table. She needed to think, plan…

She needed to kill something, specifically rip this Alexius's heart from his chest and destroy him with fire. But that wasn't yet an option, and Maia was right here. And so Elisif tried to calm herself and summoned her inner council instead. Time to be queenly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The war council convened was not one of the Inquisition's more conventional ones. Most did not have a little girl sitting on the edge of the war table, staring at it in fascination. Nor did they have the Herald of Andraste and the Fool of Hearts cooing over said little girl, with Liriel the High Elf watching in delight. Or Cassandra walking in and staring at the three humans in amazement before being introduced to Maia and then asking if Cicero was Madanach. Cicero's resulting howls of hysterical laughter lasted for a good couple of minutes and were only halted by Cicero straining a muscle in his back while rolling around on the floor.

Elisif had Josephine find him a chair, and then as Liriel's healing magic began chiming, Liriel quietly scolding Cicero and telling him to keep still, the council proper began. Elisif began by inviting Dorian to tell his story.

“So you expect us to believe you're down here in Ferelden for honourable reasons, despite by your own admission being this magister's apprentice?” Cullen snapped, disbelieving.

“Former apprentice!” Dorian protested. “As in not any more! We had a difference of opinions and I left! And this time magic he's using – we developed the theory together, but it never worked in practice! We theorised it would be dangerously unstable if it ever did. As is becoming apparent.”

“And now you're here,” Elisif said. “What did make you decide to come south?”

“Felix wrote to me,” Dorian said, staring at the war table. “That's Alexius's son. He was concerned by his father's plans and told me to come to Redcliffe. He could see what the time magic was doing to Redcliffe but not how to stop it. The rifts that were forming were warping time itself and it was getting worse. He knew I was the only other one who understood how the magic worked and he begged me to help. So I came. Felix briefed me on everything, that his father had taken them all back in time to just after the Conclave, persuaded Fiona to ally with him for protection against the Templars, and stolen the mage rebellion out from under you! There wasn't a lot I could do, other than try and make contact with the man who'd once been Enchanter-General and see if he'd believe me. I was thinking he might lead an uprising or something.”

“He's good at that,” Elisif whispered, warming to Dorian. He seemed sincere at least, and genuinely remorseful over what had happened. She'd need to get Madanach's side of the story, but Liriel's version of events largely agreed, and seeing as Dorian had helped get Maia to safety, Dorian was all right in her book… for now anyway.

“But I remembered, Mama!” Maia chimed in. “I remembered what it had been like! Daddy was Enchanter-Genril and I was the Mascot!”

Wait… Maia?? _Maia_ had been the mysterious secret weapon of the mage rebellion in sealing rifts? But that would mean…

“Maia,” Elisif began, even as Leliana began to whisper in excitement to Josephine and Cassandra was staring very hard at Maia and Elisif both, and Cicero was looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth and as if he'd had no prior knowledge of any of this, which was a waste as the guilt on Liriel's face completely gave the game away. “Did your father take you to Fade rifts?”

Maia nodded, suddenly looking a bit nervous, not failing to pick up on her mother's barely hidden disapproval.

“We came through one from Hag's End,” Maia whispered. “There were monsters and it was scary, but Daddy and Cicero and Eola and Liriel and Borkul killed them all. And then I Shouted at the Rift and it closed! So when the MageGuard found more rifts, Daddy would take me to close them. He'd fight the monsters with the MageGuards and kill them all and then I'd Shout at the Rift. And then we'd go home and have cake and everyone said I was very brave! I got to be like you and do brave things! And then everyone forgot.”

Maia looked heartbroken and Elisif wanted to comfort her, she really did but _her baby had been in fights!_ Her tiny, fragile, five year old little baby had been _fighting demons!_ Or around dangerous demons anyway. And her bloody father had not only allowed it, he'd _encouraged_ it??

Words were going to be had when Elisif caught up with him. He was alive and not in any great pain, Elisif could sense that at least. That last might change a little when she tracked him down.

“Cicero didn't forget?” Cicero offered from his chair, pouting up at Maia. “Cicero remembers! Maia was very good at it!”

Maia beamed at Cicero and her smile widened even more when Leliana announced she knew as well, her people had fed back plenty of reports, although no one had been able to find out the Mascot was a little girl.

“They kept you well hidden, I'm impressed!” Leliana said as Maia gazed adoringly at her. “You have the same voice magic as your mother?”

Maia nodded, and that was when Elisif picked Maia up, about done with _her baby_ being used for political games.

“That's enough about Maia's Voice!” Elisif snapped. “Leliana, we are NOT using Maia's abilities for the Inquisition. She's _five years old!_ ”

Leliana pouted, but Cassandra, Cullen and Josephine were all nodding in agreement, and Josephine in particular assured her no one was going to use Maia as a political tool. That remained to be seen, but Elisif took her word for it. She turned back to Maia, who seemed to have grown in the few short weeks they'd been apart, and was speaking Thedosian! Almost fluently! Even a bit of an accent! She'd been living with the mage rebellion, apparently being the centre of attention and a much-loved figure. This must have been what Fiona had meant when she'd said she had something of Elisif's. She'd had Maia all along. 

And now Maia was here, having run away, having been sent away because the alternative was leaving Eola behind. Because even despite the grandchildren and the sons-in-law, Madanach still saw Eola as the little girl Maia actually was. Damn him.

Elisif held Maia close for a few seconds, getting her breathing under control and reminding herself Maia was here, Maia was fine, Madanach had been looking after her well enough from the look of it, and that Maia seemed worried for him rather than scared for herself spoke volumes. Her baby was fine. Her baby was fine. So she put Maia down and steeled herself for the next bit – questioning her little girl.

Maia's story turned out to be as heartbreaking as Elisif expected. Maia excitedly chattered about reaching the Hinterlands, surviving that first rift, then exploring the countryside and then running into some Templars who'd found out Madanach was a mage and promptly attacked. Including one of them racing at Maia with a sword after she'd Shouted them off her father.

“But it was all right!” Maia said hastily as she saw her mother whimpering and looking about to collapse from terror. “Blackwall saved me and then Cicero and Borkul killed a load of them and then Daddy healed himself and went after the rest!”

This was not comforting. This was not remotely comforting. Her baby had _seen people killed??_

Elisif needed a strong drink and a sit down and many many words with Madanach. Mercifully Cicero mentioned that his back was just fine now and would pretty Elisif like his chair?

Elisif took the chair and held out her arms to Maia, who climbed into her lap and snuggled against her, looking rather guilty.

“And then we went to stay the night at Warden Blackwall's house, and Cicero killed some Carta and darkspawn, and then we went to Redcliffe!” Maia said quickly. “And Grand Enchanter Fiona said we could stay with her mages if Daddy helped them fight. So he said yes, and he invented the MageGuard, and he stopped the bad mages and the Templars and helped the refugees and we sealed rifts! And then Fiona went to Val Royeaux and came back and said you were the Herald of Andraste! And Daddy wrote to you to tell you to come to Redcliffe, and we all went to bed happy… and then I woke up and no one remembered anything and it was scary and the bad magister was mean to Daddy and Eola, and then Felix and Dorian found us and told us what had happened and we tried to escape but… but he found us. And Eola and Daddy held him off while Liriel and Dorian took me away but… I don't know where they are now!”

Maia looked heartbroken and Elisif didn't blame her. Elisif held Maia close and looked up at Cullen and Leliana.

“Give me options,” she whispered. “Give me anything!”

“Taking Redcliffe is not an easy thing,” Leliana said, frowning. “It's the most defensible castle in Ferelden aside from Fort Drakon in Denerim. We'd never manage it on our own.”

“Queen Anora might help,” Josephine said thoughtfully. “She'd be very interested to hear a foreign power had taken one of her key allies' seats. If Arl Teagan has reached the capital, she might even know already.”

“We can't rely on Ferelden!” Cullen cried. “This Alexius has hostages, if we lay siege to Redcliffe, he'll likely execute them.”

Maia and Cicero both wailed in unison and Elisif clung onto Maia, feeling hope fading away.

“I'm not giving up!” Elisif snapped. “There must be something we can do! This is my _husband!_ ”

An awkward silence, and then Leliana reached out and gave hope a lifeline.

“There might be a way,” Leliana said, stroking her chin. “During the Blight, we had to infiltrate it then too. There's this secret entrance into the dungeons, intended as an escape route for the family. Alexius might not know it's there. We could send a rescue party in that way. Elisif, do you think Madanach would be any good at assisting an attack from within?”

Elisif just about managed to not laugh.

“I think he'll be quite the asset, in fact if there's any other prisoners, you might find he's already in the process of organising a resistance movement,” Elisif told her.

“And when Alexius's guards find out and raise the alarm?” Cullen said sceptically. 

“They will not find out!” Cicero chirped from where he was standing behind Elisif, protectively patting her on the shoulder. “Cicero will go with the secret infiltration party. Cicero will ensure no one is alive along enough to cry out.”

Josephine looked vaguely appalled, Cullen was muttering 'Maker's breath' to himself, Cassandra was grimacing… but Leliana was looking delighted.

“I like him!” Leliana laughed. “All right, Cicero. You can come with us.”

Cicero squealed, and after looking to Elisif for permission, thanked Leliana profusely before running off to where the Chargers were camped to find his gear and start getting ready.

“You'd better take me as well,” Dorian said to Leliana, arms folded. “Who knows what sort of arcane traps and tricks Alexius has installed in those dungeons. Well, that's the question, isn't it? I do, probably designed half of them. You'd be mad to leave me behind.”

“And if he does find you?” Cassandra demanded. “Leaving aside how trustworthy either of these two are – Elisif, I will take your word on Cicero if you say you know him, but none of us know this Dorian! The entire enterprise could fall apart if there's no support from our troops!”

“She's right,” Cullen said. “We need a distraction.”

“Cullen, if you send troops in, he'll know we're there!” Leliana cried, and yet another argument looked set to break out… until Elisif saw Josephine staring at Alexius's letter and realised what the ambassador was thinking. A distraction, and diplomacy could accomplish that as well as a siege.

“I'll go,” Elisif said. “He's already invited me to talk terms. I'll go with a small party and ensure Venatori attention's on us. Meanwhile Leliana brings her people in round the back. Free any prisoners you find. Madanach's the battlemage with the smart mouth and the attitude. Cicero will know him.”

“I'll see it done,” Leliana promised, despite the protestations from Cullen and Cassandra both.

“You could be killed!” Culled cried. “I can't agree to a plan where the Herald's walking into a trap!”

“At least take me with you,” Cassandra begged, and Elisif could reassure her on that at least.

“Of course you can come,” Elisif promised. “I never said I'd be going alone!”

“Can I come?” Maia asked hopefully, and everyone disapproved of that.

“After all the trouble everyone went to to get you here and you want to go back to Redcliffe?” Elisif cried. “You certainly are not coming. You can stay here until we get back. No, don't argue with me, Maia. It'll be too dangerous for little girls.”

Maia sniffled and pouted, looking like she was about to cry, and Elisif decided the council was done for the day.

“All right, we've got a plan, go make it happen,” Elisif said, scooping up Maia and getting to her feet. “I think someone needs a rest.”

“I'm not tired!” Maia wailed, but Elisif could tell that Maia was definitely nearing the end of her resources and was in dire need of a nap, and oh god, Elisif had none of Maia's things, Maia had escaped from Redcliffe with Frogella and the clothes on her back and not a lot else. How Elisif was supposed to look after a child and save the world at the same time, she had no idea. But she'd have to manage. She'd need to get Roslinna to chase up some spare clothes for her, definitely. She didn't exactly want to deprive any refugee kids of anything, but Maia would need at least one spare outfit. Oh gods, babysitting, who in the Void was she supposed to leave Maia with while she went to rescue Madanach??

All questions for the morning. Right now, she had a sniffling child to settle. The rescue of said child's father would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a few phrases in there which are meant to be Tamrielic as heard by Thedosians - I have no idea how it would actually sound but I've gone for the Skyrim dialect as having a Germanic feel to it.
> 
> "Ik wunsha Mama!" - I want Mama!
> 
> "Be swornen mi/te" - I/you promise
> 
> "Aber Cicero, el konnen Mama!" - But Cicero, he knows Mama!
> 
> Next chapter is a short break before the rescue starts up, where Elisif settles Maia and gets used to being a mother again, and everyone else starts reacting to the new arrivals.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald of Andraste has got out of the habit of of parenting but happily she's lost none of her skills. And after hearing just what Maia's been up to since she last saw her, she will need all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unmitigated fluff, I'm afraid, but OTOH you are getting two chapters! This is Elisif catching up with Maia, finding out what she's been up to... and having a bit of a nervous breakdown over it. XD

Through Haven's winding snow-covered pathways and back to her house, a journey normally made in minutes, made far far longer now there was a five year old to think of. A very inquisitive five year old who was looking at everything and everyone and waving to everyone and thank Mara she was still just about small enough to carry.

As it was, half the Inquisition was stopping to watch open-mouthed as their Herald carried a small child past who, there was no denying, was definitely hers. There was definitely going to be an awful lot of explaining to do.

“Who's that?” Maia called, waving to Varric as Elisif passed him. Great, now Varric had seen her, the news the Herald's child was right here in Haven was going to be all round the village in hours.

“Hi there, little one!” Varric called back, amused. “Hey, Blue-eyes! When your mini-Herald's in bed, did you want a drink later?”

Fucking hell. Even going to the tavern suddenly required logistical planning. And Redcliffe – who was going to look after Maia while she was there?? Cicero was already going on the rescue mission. She could hardly ask Liriel, she barely knew Maia. And while she'd trust most here with her life, there weren't so very many she'd trust with her baby. Josephine maybe? Mother Giselle? Varric might work for a few hours but overnight? Roslinna might keep her house clean and cook her meals, but that was a far cry from childcare, and Elisif usually sent her home after dinner was served.

Elisif suddenly realised she was a lone parent in charge of a vulnerable little girl, and the prospect terrified her.

“Maybe!” Elisif called. “I mean, I'll have to see!”

“Sure!” Varric said knowingly. “I'll be here when you need me, Blue-eyes. No rush.”

“Why's he calling you Blue-eyes?” Maia whispered as Elisif made her way into the house. “That's not your name!”

“He gives all his friends nicknames,” Elisif explained, putting Maia down and feeling the sensation returning to her arms. Maia had definitely grown since she last saw her. 

“He should call you Queen Elisif,” Maia said imperiously. “That's your name, isn't it?”

“Yes, but I'm not queen here and Varric's not from Skyrim,” Elisif said, sitting down at her desk and wondering if it was too early to start drinking. She was already exhausted. How had Madanach managed it? She didn't remember childcare being this tiring back home. Of course, back then she'd had Sofie and Lucia and Aventus to pitch in a bit, plus lots of servants and guards who could at least make sure Maia didn't get into any serious trouble when Elisif's back was turned. Back in Tamriel, Maia was a Reach-Princess, Jarl's daughter and Imperial Heir. Here, she was just another child – no, not just another child. Too important to risk, but no state apparatus to protect and care for her either. Elisif really was alone.

Maia was standing in the centre of the bedroom, looking about her, seeming reassured to see Elisif's swords and shield gleaming away over the fire and the Jagged Crown on the desk and Elisif's Blades gear stored on a mannequin in the corner. All the same, she was still frowning.

“Do you live here?” Maia said, nose wrinkling. “It's not very big.”

“It will do for my needs,” Elisif told her, beginning to wonder if living in palaces and keeps was really a good idea for a little girl. “I'm not queen here, remember!”

“You should be!” Maia protested, turning to face her, guileless little face upturned to her mother as Maia looked most put out at her mother not being Queen. “You should be Queen of Thedas and have a big castle with lots of guards and servants and a big army and banners and everyone saying All Hail Queen Elisif! They can't put you in a tiny house! You saved the world! You're going to fix the sky! Kynnaref sent you here!”

Oh dear gods, they'd raised a monster. It belatedly occurred to Elisif that in leaving out the political nuances from the Dragonborn story when telling it to Maia, she might have done them all a disservice.

“Yes, in return for getting Daddy back,” Elisif said wearily. “Maia, I didn't save the world from Alduin because they were going to make me Queen. I did it because it was right. The whole being Queen part involved rather more work than that. Anyway, I don't want to be Queen of Thedas. It already has rulers.”

Surprise on Maia's face, and then her expression set into a stubborn expression that reminded her of Madanach a little.

“Well, you'd be good at it,” Maia said at length. “You'd make it illegal for Templars to hurt mages or take little mage children away from their mamas and daddies.”

All right, yes, Elisif probably would. But that didn't mean everyone else would like it.

“Well, maybe the Inquisition can help with that,” Elisif told her. “After all, the Chantry's not really in a position to do anything to stop us. But it takes time, and I think the mages would prefer it if we rescued them from the Venatori first.”

“Oh,” Maia whispered, before giggling. “Oh yes! We're going to rescue the mages!” Then she darted forward and cuddled Elisif and Elisif felt her anxieties fade as she remembered the good bit about parenting – having her baby around again and getting to cuddle her and be cuddled.

“Are you sure I can't come?” Maia whispered.

“Yes,” Elisif told her. “Honestly, it's dangerous enough me going. You certainly aren't. Honestly, what was your father thinking? Not that I'm not pleased to see you, but _why_ did he bring you?? You should have stayed at home with Argis or Kaie!”

Maia looked up, eyes wide and face sad and solemn, looking a bit nervous.

“I wanted to come,” Maia whispered.

“And your father just said yes to that,” Elisif said sceptically, Madanach being the last person to just say 'yes of course, I will happily take my five year old child into deadly danger!'

“Um,” was all Maia said before looking up hopefully. “Auntie Keirine thought it was a good idea as well!”

Rather less surprising, given Keirine didn't really understand children at all and just treated them like small adults, but even Keirine wouldn't have agreed if there hadn't been some practical reasoning behind it.

“And why did Keirine think it was a good idea?” Elisif prodded, stroking Maia's hair.

Maia had to think about this one, and it was entirely likely that Keirine might not have revealed all her reasons to Maia, thinking about it. But at length, Maia did answer.

“I think she thought people would be nicer to us if I was there?” Maia said, looking up at Elisif to see how this would be received. “Also Daddy and Keirine were worried the Ockle-lattus might take me away again! And Kaie and Argis wouldn't be able to stop them! They might take me all the way to Cyrodiil! All on my own!”

Maia looked appalled at the mere idea, and Elisif couldn't blame her. Take Maia away to the Imperial Court at Cyrodiil on her own?? Without her kin or anyone she knew? They couldn't do that! That was emphatically not what they'd agreed! She'd signed an explicit agreement with Gaius, witnessed by Rikke and Argis, with Madanach as co-signatory, that Maia would remain with her and Madanach, and if anything happened to her before Maia's sixteenth birthday, Maia would remain with Madanach in Markarth, and the later codicil added after Madanach's regency had stipulated Argis to have custody, and to be Jarl of Solitude with Maia as his heir, and Maia's primary residence to be in Solitude, with visitation rights for Kaie and Eola. 

Except Elisif realised that if she wasn't around, the Imperial Court might override all of that if foul play was suspected, and oh gods, again, Maia had said the Oculatus might take her away _again_. 

“Maia,” Elisif said softly, trying not to sound upset or alarmed, not entirely successfully. “When did the Oculatus ever take you away? We agreed you'd remain with me, or where I said you should stay.”

It had been a while since Maia had looked quite that scared, eyes wide as she seemed to withdraw into herself.

“After you disappeared,” Maia whispered. “They said the Ockle-latus had blamed Eola and tried to arrest her, and Daddy went straight out to find her. And I stayed at Markarth. But then the Ocklatus turned up and took me away! And Kaie couldn't stop them because they threatened to declare war on her! They took me to Solitude and locked me up in Castle Dour and I didn't get to see Argis or anyone!”

“They did _what??_ ” Elisif gasped, certain extremely primal instincts starting to rise up, and when she saw Gaius Maro again, many many words were going to be had, including ordering Farkas to pick the offending Imperial up and hold him upside down until Elisif got a good explanation as to what the actual _fuck_ he'd been thinking in abducting a terrified five year old from her home.

“They took me away!” Maia whispered, looking heartbroken and suddenly she broke and clung on to Elisif, shaking all over. “Mama, they took me away and I had to escape on Odahviing, and Daddy didn't find me until next day, and everyone was worried they might find me again and take me away forever to Cyrodiil, and I was scared and didn't want Daddy to leave, and… and…”

Maia was actually sobbing at this point, scared and anxious and hyperventilating, and Elisif wordlessly picked her up and hauled her on to her knee, cuddling her and soothing her, holding her tight, all the while screaming furiously inside about how she was going to rip the Oculatus leaders to pieces when she found them. No wonder Madanach hadn't wanted to leave her. Oh gods, what if there'd been orders from Cyrodiil?? What if… what if Titus Mede himself had ordered Maia sent to him. No, surely not, had there been time? But if Maia had been taken by the Oculatus, likely because they suspected Reach involvement in the older Imperial Heir going missing… a writ from the Ruby Throne was likely only a matter of time, and Madanach had likely had to choose between hunting for his wife and protecting their daughter, and decided taking her with him was the safest option. Except he'd just essentially abducted the Imperial Heir. Wasn't taking a member of the Imperial family out of the Empire without the Emperor's permission illegal?

_Oh Madanach. You stupid, sentimental bastard._

Elisif had never wanted to go to him more, as she forgave him everything. He was a bigger idiot than even he realised, but he was her idiot. She still wasn't sure bringing Maia to Thedas was a good idea… but she had her baby back. She had Maia here, in her arms, safe and alive and here, and she couldn't fault Madanach for that. Even if he would likely be arrested the second he returned to Tamriel.

Well. She could do something about that, she was sure. But that was a long way off. First she needed to make sure he was all right now.

“Mama?” Maia whispered. “Mama, am I in trouble? Daddy said I wasn't, but you're cross, aren't you?” She sounded like she was about to cry. Elisif's heart went out to her, and she kissed her daughter and held her tight.

“You're not in trouble,” Elisif said quietly. “It isn't your fault. You're just a little girl, you shouldn't have to deal with all this!”

Maia didn't say anything, just cuddling Elisif silently, and Elisif had a feeling Maia wasn't entirely convinced.

“I ran away on Odahviing!” Maia whispered, actually shaking in Elisif's arms. “I'm not supposed to do that! Am I?”

Ran away on… wait, Maia had been serious? Oh Mara.

“What do you mean?” Elisif said faintly. “How did you get from being locked up in Castle Dour to flying away on Odahviing?”

“I opened the window and Shouted his name and he flew over and offered to fly me to safety. So I climbed on his back and we flew off,” Maia whispered, looking a bit nervous. She'd been right to. Elisif hadn't been able to stop the panicked little whimper escaping her throat as she clutched tight at Maia and tried not to have a panic attack, and the worst thing was she couldn't even tell Maia off. Maia had been scared and terrified – albeit _not terrified enough_ – she'd probably felt she had no other options, and that her mother had abandoned her.

“And… and Argis is telling the bards and getting them to write a song about it!” Maia was continuing, becoming increasingly desperate. “And now everyone is saying I'm Maia Dragon-rider and I've got an honour-name! Mama, you have to tell them to stop!”

Elisif had a horrible feeling that the incipient panic attack was going to manifest as nervous hysterical laughter, for which Maia would likely not easily forgive her.

“Oh gods,” Elisif whispered. “You've got an honour-name. Age five. Oh Stendarr.”

“I don't want an honour-name!” Maia cried, appalled. “Everyone will be looking and staring and talking about me! And Daddy didn't help! Mama, I think he was laughing at me!”

Doubtless he would. The man who'd escaped the prison no one escaped from would likely have found the idea of his daughter absconding on a dragon the height of amusement.

“I think he was probably impressed,” Elisif finally said, trying not to smile. “I'm sorry, darling, I don't think I can stop the bards now, not now Argis has commissioned it. It's probably finished and all over Skyrim by now. It certainly will be by the time we get back. I'm afraid the honour-name is going to stick.”

“Noooo!!!!” Maia wailed, mortified. “Mama!!!! I don't wanna honour-name!”

“Why not, darling?” Elisif asked, a bit surprised. “They're a sign of respect!”

“It's not!” Maia cried. “They're laughing at me! Because I'm little! They only give honour-names to warriors! I'm not a warrior, I'm a little girl!”

Elisif softened as she cuddled her baby, feeling for the poor thing. Understandable that she might think no one was taking her seriously. As a rule, people didn't take five year olds seriously. But Elisif had always tried to at least listen when her little one was unhappy, even if she couldn't fix things, and sometimes that was all Maia needed. Someone who'd listen.

“Maybe you are, little pixie,” Elisif told her. “But you won't always be a little girl. And you're also a Dragonborn. Not many little five year olds would have thought to escape, and even fewer would have succeeded. And how many others have got a dragon friend who'll rescue them?”

Maia was digesting this quietly, brow furrowing just like Elisif's always did when she was confused.

“You mean they really mean it?” Maia whispered. “They really think I'm brave?”

“Of course they do,” Elisif said, kissing the top of her head. “Because you are.”

Maia started and looked up, mouth falling open as she stared up at Elisif… and then Maia's face lit up and Maia promptly hugged her mother.

“I love you, Mama!” Maia cried and Elisif could feel tears in her eyes as she cuddled her baby.

“I love you too, little pixie,” Elisif whispered, closing her eyes as she held her daughter close, kissing her again, loving the feeling of having her little one in her arms. This was unexpected, completely unexpected – never had she thought she'd see her baby again until she got back to Skyrim. But Maia was here, and Elisif realised with a pang just how much she'd missed having her around. 

Maybe parenthood was work. Maybe it wasn't easy, and maybe she'd got used to being able to act at a moment's notice without having to organise a babysitter. But having Maia back made up for it all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

And so Elisif had had a lie down with Maia cuddled up next to her, and they'd both ended up napping in Elisif's bed. 

“Need to get you a proper bed, little one,” Elisif said sleepily.

“That's OK, Mama,” Maia whispered. “I can sleep next to you, I don't mind.”

“And when Daddy comes back?” Elisif said, amused.

“I don't mind sleeping next to him either,” Maia said, snuggling into her, and then there followed a somewhat upsetting conversation during which Maia found out that mamas and daddies did not generally have their children sleeping next to them at night, and that she'd be in her own bed, and the sniffling only stopped when Elisif promised that perhaps she could come in and cuddle them both in the morning, and that cheered her up.

And then Maia had asked why Elisif's hand was glowing. The one conversation Elisif had not wanted to have.

“I'm not sure, sweetie,” Elisif whispered, staring at the mark and trying to work out what she thought. It lay dormant most of the time, but when she used it, it felt like every nerve in her hand was blazing. “It was there when I got here. It can close Rifts. So maybe Akatosh gave it me!”

“You don't Shout them shut, like me?” Maia whispered, staring at the mark, fascinated.

“No, I don't know a Thu'um to do that, how were you doing it?” Elisif asked, genuinely fascinated as to how Maia had managed it, and Maia responded by placing hands on her stomach and whispering “STRIN!” and even that made the cabin shake.

“It closed them but didn't get rid of them, but there must be more words that do that, do you think Odahviing will know?” Maia asked.

“I don't know, darling,” Elisif said softly. “But when we see him, we will ask him. I think… I think I'd rather have a Shout to do it than this, if I'm honest.”

Maia looked sadly at her before peering at the mark.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered. 

_Yes. Sometimes. I don't like it or understand it and I want it gone._

“Sometimes, but only a little,” Elisif said softly. “Don't worry about it, it's not doing me any harm.”

Maia did not look convinced but she didn't say anything. She cuddled her mother and closed her eyes and soon both mother and daughter were drowsing in the afternoon sunshine, far from home but in finding each other, finding something like peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours later, and Roslinna had arrived for the evening meal, flushed and nervous and even more so on actually meeting Maia, and Elisif's reassurances that Maia didn't have a special title here, she was just Maia, didn't seem to reassure the young elf. Maia pouted a bit on hearing she wasn't going to get addressed as Princess Maia, but didn't throw a tantrum at least. And then Maia tasted Roslinna's cooking, promptly devoured her lamb and elfroot stew and spent the rest of the evening staring adoringly at the elf and stating that she loved Roslinna and Roslinna could come back any time she liked and make more nice things for them, and could Frogella have a bit as well, and Maia could eat it for her seeing as frogs didn't eat stew.

Elisif laughed and said yes, just a bit, mind, before quietly offering Roslinna more money to watch Maia for a few hours that evening. Then bath, bedtime for Maia, and Elisif finally made it out to the tavern.

She'd never ordered a pint with quite so much guilty pleasure before.

_I should be at home, looking after Maia. Not out at the tavern, drinking! I'm such a bad parent!_

Quiet as it always was when she walked in, but she could hardly not notice the glances. Mara, half of Haven probably thought she was a bad mother now as well.

Mercifully, Varric Tethras thought otherwise, for here he was, joining her for an evening pint too.

“And there she is! Andraste's Herald, now with Tiny Herald Princess. Or without, I suppose, seeing as she's not here.”

“Tucked up in bed, lights out, Roslinna staying in tonight to keep an eye on her,” Elisif said quickly. “I didn't leave her on her own! She'll be fine. I won't stay out late or get drunk or… oh Mara, I have to leave her on her own for days when we move for Redcliffe. What am I going to do, I can't leave her, she's been through heartbreak just lately! Thanks to her bloody father who apparently couldn't leave her behind in Tamriel with her brother or sister who have castles and bodyguards and servants and spouses and in Argis's case a child and….!”

“Hey. Blue-eyes.” Varric had put a hand on her back, vaguely pitying look on his face. “Stop. Breathe. _Relax._ Your little girl is fine. Cullen's already got extra guards keeping an eye on your house, and Leliana's got secret eyes on there as well. And are you seriously worried about babysitters? Don't worry. Mother Giselle has an entire nursery under her care for refugee kids, orphan kids and the kids of Inquisition people who need to go off on missions for extended periods of time. Josephine is already arranging for Maia to join them while you're away. Don't _worry,_ Blue-eyes! Honestly, you're a noblewoman. No one expects a noblewoman to raise her own children. Half of Orlais' nobility barely saw their parents growing up. Didn't do them any harm.”

“Debatable!” Elisif snapped, having heard an awful lot about Orlesian nobility, mostly from the Fereldan working-classes. “And I don't want Maia to hardly see me! I'm her mother! She needs me! Also I missed her. What??”

“That's… really cute!” Varric said, looking slightly emotional. “You know, do me a favour and develop some flaws, could you? At the moment you're a bit too good to be true. Mighty warrior, big hero, and then you come home and you're squealing all over your little girl and worrying about her. You can't turn into a tempestuous diva behind closed doors or something? Throw a few plates? Shout at the servants? Make some unreasonable demands?”

“I can shout and throw things at you if you like?” Elisif said sweetly, before rolling her eyes. “Honestly, is this for the book? Can't you make something up? You're an author, don't tell me Hard in Hightown was an accurate account of Kirkwall policing.”

“Madam! You wound me!” Varric gasped, before shaking his head. “Seriously though, Blue-eyes, this is one hell of a story unfolding right here before us. If the good guys win, if we don't all get killed, if the world doesn't fall apart, this could be the sort of things legends are made of. Your tale of the Dragonborn story already is if even half of it is true!”

“Stendarr's mercy,” Elisif muttered. “Don't tell me you're seriously writing that.”

“Oh absolutely, in fact your friend Cicero was helping fill in some of the gaps,” Varric said, refilling his tankard. “He's been very helpful. He's filled in an awful lot of background information.”

“He's… oh my god,” Elisif gasped. “Varric, please don't believe everything he says! Cicero is, er...”

“Prone to exaggerate?” Varric said, grinning. “Embellishes? Talks in euphemisms and has a past best not mentioned? I figured out he's an assassin, Blue-eyes. Not like Kirkwall's lacking in them. Don't worry, I'll be sure to write him in as a penitent contract killer, the Zevran Arainai of Tamriel who wished to leave an order that was ill-treating him, turned on them after they took a contract against the beautiful High Queen hero, and in the process not only wiped out a bunch of corrupt assassins, he managed to find the lost princess of the Reach and fell in love with her, and has now turned over a new leaf and works with a mercenary band dedicated to helping the innocent citizens of Skyrim. Is that a fair summary?”

It wasn't remotely the whole story, and turning over a new leaf wasn't how Elisif would exactly describe it. It was more a case of finding people who direly needed stabbing and pointing Cicero at them, keeping him too tired to murder the law-abiding. A strategy that could work with the Inquisition as well as it did back home – Elisif was sure Leliana could keep him busy. But Varric's version would certainly do for public consumption.

“I think it'll make for an excellent story,” Elisif told him, sipping her pint. “Zevran Arainai? Have I heard that name? It sounds familiar.”

“Heard it – Blue-eyes, I told you the story first week you got here,” Varric said, exasperated. “He's a reformed member of the Antivan Crows, hired to kill the Hero of Ferelden and ended up falling in love with her. Ring any bells?”

Oh, him! Lyra Surana's boyfriend! Elisif had heard the story and despite involving an inordinate amount of time camping and even more time in the Deep Roads, it had been a fascinating piece of history. Even if it did leave a lot of loose ends and unanswered questions.

“I remember now,” Elisif said thoughtfully. “I wouldn't mind meeting Lyra one of these days. I'd love to hear what it was like from someone who was actually there. I know Leliana was involved but she's… well, she's not very approachable about the whole thing. I guess she must have some bad memories.”

“Don't think anyone's got any good ones of the Blight,” Varric said, glancing down at his hands, and it was hard to argue with that. So Elisif didn't say anything, and at length it was Varric who raised the subject.

“So Blue-eyes, given any thought to what Maia being here is going to mean? Aside from suddenly needing to brush up on your bedtime stories, worry about your parenting skills and devise an entire babysitting rota, of course.”

“Don't remind me,” Elisif groaned. “As it is, I'm mostly concentrating on rescuing my husband and the mage rebellion.”

“Yeah, that's the problem,” Varric sighed. “As soon as he turns up, that is when the trouble will start.”

“As opposed to the trouble-free life I've got right now?” Elisif laughed, sipping her ale. “Look, Varric, I know apostate mages are a problem for you people, but don't worry, Madanach mostly does what I tell him and underneath the grouchy exterior he's all right really, and he is a king back home, he does have a sense of civic responsibility. Give him something to do and it'll be fine.”

Varric shook his head, exasperated.

“THAT is the problem! It's not that he's a mage, it's not even him being an apostate. It's that he's _your husband._ It's that now Maia's here, and certainly once he gets here, you aren't the sainted Herald any more. You stop being some untouchable goddess, and you start looking human. Because suddenly you've got a husband and a kid. People see you telling your child off or building a snowman with her or teaching her how to read or how to fence, or cuddling your husband and going for long walks in the moonlight with him, or even having a picnic above the lake while Maia runs off collecting elfroot, and suddenly you're a wife and mother. You're a person with a home and a family!”

“And?” Elisif said, a bit confused and wondering where this was going. “I don't think I want the whole of Thedas putting me on a pedestal. It's good for the Inquisition to see me as a person, right?”

“Yeah,” Varric sighed. “If you were Thedosian. If you really were a Marcher lady or Fereldan Arl, or even an Avvar tribal chief. But you aren't! We have all so far mostly avoided the great big ogre in the room that is the strange northern continent with eight gods, free mages and a big fucking army because you were the only person from there we knew, and one woman can be dealt with, explained away. Soon as Madanach turns up, we've suddenly got the vanguard of Maker knows what arriving, and people are going to start wondering about your life back home. What other kin you've got. What it's like. You're definitely a noble, you've slipped too easily into a leadership role, and they're going to wonder about what you're in charge of and what forces you have. Someone stepping out of the Fade and sent by Andraste is one thing, but the leader of a bunch of heathens? Blue-eyes, I've written tragedies. I know how this ends. They need you now, but that won't last forever. This is first contact between two civilisations, and it usually ends up extremely uncomfortable until one of them eventually wipes the other out. And right now, Tamriel has all the power. Free mages. No Chantry. No Blights. You know where we are, we couldn't even begin to find you. Maker only knows how your husband got here so fast if you're on the other side of the planet, but whatever 'Andraste' used to bring you here, it's not divine intervention, it's magic, and your people have figured out how to duplicate it. People are going to get scared, Elisif.”

It must be serious if he was using her name. And Elisif did see his point, she really did. She just didn't know what to do about it.

“We're not planning to invade Thedas!” she whispered. “I can go home, tell everyone it's a place full of darkspawn and fanatics who'd stop us worshipping the Eight if they could, and that there's nothing here worth having, and no one would come here, I promise. It's a long way for our ships to travel and no one's going to be able to use the portals without my say so.”

Varric just smiled sadly at her, wistful gaze on a scarred and solid face, a poet's mind in a Dwarven body more often associated with miners and smugglers.

“That you can just offhandedly promise an entire continent will leave us alone on your command is one of the scariest things about you, Blue-eyes. But you won't live forever, and nor will Maia. Eventually one of your descendants is going to get greedy, or they'll want allies, resources, something else, a distraction to save their ass from domestic enemies, or there'll be some sort of revolution and the Tamrielic Empire falls apart. It's only a matter of time. And you're assuming you'll have a choice.”

“What do you mean?” Elisif said softly, beginning to worry. A choice in what?

“Read the Chant of Light,” Varric murmured, leaning closer. “Really read it! And then think about it. Think what the Chantry tells us. That when the Chant is sung from all corners of the world, the Maker will return. The world just doubled in size, Elisif. Word of Tamriel gets out, there'll be an entire movement claiming that the reason the Maker never came back is because Tamriel never heard the Chant. At the moment, the Chantry can't do anything about it, but if it can pull itself together and appoint a new Divine, and the prospect of a heathen Empire to conquer might help with that, you could have an Exalted March on your hands. And if it happens before you can get home, they might march on Haven first. I don't know how the Inquisition would or could react to that. Andraste lost, Blue-eyes! She never conquered Tevinter. Because her own husband betrayed her to the Imperium because the people loved her more than him. Maferath the Betrayer. His name even sounds like your husband's.”

Maferath. Madanach. Same length, same rhythm, same first syllable even. Elisif shivered a little, but names meant nothing. Madanach was loyal to her… and he certainly wouldn't feel jealous over Thedas preferring her to him. Not unless he'd changed a lot, and that letter he'd sent indicated he was the same as he ever was and desperate to see her again. The Forsworn matrimony bond was agreeing too – he didn't seem in pain but he did seem lonely, although he brightened up a little whenever Elisif's thoughts turned to him.

Elisif didn't know what Andraste and Maferath's marriage had been like – she'd heard three different versions of Andraste's life since she got here so who knew. But she knew her own marriage, and she knew Madanach loved her.

“My husband is no traitor,” Elisif said quietly. “Who would he sell me out to, anyway? The Chantry? Don't make me laugh, Varric.”

Varric sat back, raising his hands and clearly conceding. 

“Hey, hey, easy, Blue-eyes. I never said I agreed. I'm just saying, you need to be careful. Make sure people outside the Inquisition aren't giving too much thought to who you were before the Herald.”

“I'll keep it in mind,” Elisif said, polishing off her ale, suddenly no longer in the mood for socialising. “Look, thanks for the company and the advice, Varric, but I should get back to Maia. I just don't like leaving her on her own for long in a new place.”

“Sure, I understand,” Varric said, reaching for his quill and parchment. “Have a good evening, Blue-eyes.” He had more writing to do anyway.

Neither of them noticed the shadowy figure slipping off in the direction of Leliana's tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more happens in the next one, which has people reacting to the presence of a mini-Herald... and a lone High Elf.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas has questions, but Elisif doesn't have answers he'd like to hear, and Liriel's not convinced either. Meanwhile the rest of Elisif's allies gather in preparation for the Redcliffe operation... but some are more reliable than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, definitely a bridging chapter, which is why I wanted this one up before In Hushed Whispers properly got under way. Next chapter the rescue mission commences!

Elisif made her way back to her cabin, trudging through the snow in the torchlight, hoping Maia was all right. She'd been gone an hour, if that. Less, probably. Maia was probably fine. Most likely Elisif would find her either asleep or hiding under her blankets, reading by magelight and looking guiltily up at her mother when discovered.

All the same, perhaps Elisif should get back sooner rather than later. Which sounded like a plan… until she saw Solas approaching, bald head gleaming in the moonlight.

“Greetings, Elisif. I was wondering if we could speak.”

“I'm a little tired, Solas,” Elisif said, stopping and folding her arms. A war council, learning of her husband's imprisonment, Maia here, having to suddenly be a mother again – today had been exhausting.

“I don't doubt it,” Solas said, beckoning her over to a fire and motioning for her to sit down while he warmed himself by the fire. Elisif belatedly realised the poor man must be cold – well, no wonder in that thin wool tunic. Did no one in Haven know how to dress properly for the winter?

“So, your husband came to find you,” Solas said, intrigued. “A husband skilled in magic from the sound of it – I'm not sure how else he'd be able to cross continents to get here so fast. And bringing your child too. I am surprised he would risk her, but then again, I don't know what it is like back home. Perhaps he feared leaving her more than he doubted his own ability to protect her.”

“He can protect her,” Elisif said, wondering what Solas was getting at. She liked the mage well enough, but his origins were more shrouded in mystery than her own. She didn't know if she entirely trusted him yet. Something about him felt… odd. Like he didn't quite fit his own form properly. Elisif couldn't explain it. But the elf seemed friendly and he had helped stop her mark from killing her. Also he was something of an outsider here as well. They had that in common at least.

“Indeed,” Solas said thoughtfully. “Elisif, tell me something. Your daughter. She has the same voice magic you do, doesn't she? I think I heard her earlier.”

Not the first time Solas had seemed fascinated by the Thu'um. But it was the first time his scholarly curiosity had started leading him towards Maia's abilities.

“It's hereditary. What of it,” Elisif said shortly.

“I just wondered how it worked,” Solas said, smiling sweetly at her as he prodded the fire with the tip of his staff, making it spark green and scaring off some nearby workers. “It feels different to the magic I know. The opposite in fact.”

“How do you mean?” Elisif asked. Oddly, this tallied with what mages back home had said about the Thu'um – the magic of humans was not the same at all. The Reachmen all backed away from the Thu'um on instinct, believing it not quite natural, and when the Reachmen thought something was unnatural, you knew it was weird. Whereas the Winterhold mages had tried to study it but all ended up as confused as they'd been when they started. All they'd agreed on was that Elisif wasn't a mage. Whereas Paarthurnax hadn't known enough of human magic to comment but merely said the Thu'um was a creative force, Akatosh's own power distilled into words. You were not summoning the element like a mage, you created it.

“There's nothing of the Fade in it,” Solas said, intrigued. “It is a reshaping of this world, a command in fact. You Shout and the world reconstructs itself around you. I've never seen anything like it. Not from a mage anyway. It's more like a spirit's power over the Fade, except it is over the real world. The nearest thing I've seen is a Templar or Seeker's ability to stop magic. I have seen the Templars do it – it's like they make the world around them more real, preventing the Fade from manifesting. Your voice does something similar. It makes the world more real. I believe you might be able to learn Cassandra's abilities if you tried. Without needing lyrium.”

Oh, that'd go well. Her with a mage husband and a little girl who was terrified of Templars – although it might help with magical accidents. 

“Perhaps,” Elisif said, shrugging. “If I can avoid traumatising Maia in the process. She's scared of Templars, I don't think she'd like it if her mother started using their powers.”

That got a laugh from Solas, who ruefully admitted perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea.

“You've described the Thu'um as the power of dragons,” Solas said thoughtfully. “That back home, you have dragons that use the same powers, and your very religion claims your Maker god is the father of dragons and who used the power to create the world. It seems implausible but the power is undeniably real. I wonder… tell me, Elisif, have you ever wondered what the world would be like if there were no Veil? If spirits were not sealed in their own world but free to mingle? If they were not something to be summoned but a natural occurrence like rain or snow?”

No. Funnily, no, Elisif never had, and even the Reachmen had never seriously argued for just unlocking the Gates of Oblivion and letting nature take its course. Tales of the Oblivion Crisis flashed into Elisif's mind, tales of Mankar Camoran using a Dragonborn's murder to unleash hell on Nirn, and another Dragonborn's death being required to seal it all shut again. And older tales, tales of Alessia leading the rebellion of humans against their elven Ayleid overlords, Alessia the former slave fleeing to Skyrim and seeking Nord assistance, and eventually coming back with an army, her two generals and husbands Pelinal Whitestrake and Morihaus, and the powers of a Dragonborn, and a promise from Akatosh to seal the Gates, keeping spirits in their place and the mortal world safe, meaning no warlord could ever raise an army of undead or daedra ever again. St. Alessia, who'd done what Andraste couldn't, because her husbands had regarded the other as a brother in arms and neither had considered selling her out for a second. She'd founded an Empire and a religion in one, and notably, she'd insisted she never be worshipped as a god herself. So St. Alessia it was, and Tamriel had gained a legend. Elisif wasn't sure if she was the next Alessia or not, but she venerated the saint like any Tamrielite, and damned if she was undoing her predecessor's hard work.

“We take the Veil down, and someone here will figure out a way to harness a demon army, or raise a legion of undead,” Elisif said wearily. “Or someone on the other side rises and starts invading. That's if there's any order to it at all, and it's not just chaos and demons everywhere. We're trying to repair the Veil not destroy it! Somebody already ripped a hole in it!”

“I know,” Solas said quietly. “But if the Veil were to be taken down carefully, thinned out until it evaporated entirely...”

“ _No!_ ” Elisif said firmly. “Back home, when the Gates were freely open, there was an elven empire in Tamriel who kept humans as slaves and used daedra as their armies – undead too if it came to it, usually the corpses of their massacred slaves. It took a mass rebellion and a Dragonborn leader to finally overthrow them and seal the Gates shut. It's why Dragonborns are so revered back home. It's their abilities, the dragon blood, the covenant between Akatosh and the Dragonborn that keeps the world running as it should. I'm not… I'm not undoing that.”

Solas's expression was unreadable but he didn't argue. He just looked curious.

“You refer to the Veil as the Gates,” Solas mused. “Not a boundary overlaying one world and hiding it from the other, but as if the Fade is something walled off entirely, with strongly sealed gates preventing anything getting through. Are you that afraid of the Beyond?”

“We've seen what lurks beyond,” Elisif said tersely. “I'm not exposing my people to that. If a mage wants to talk to spirits, there's ways of doing that. But just letting them all move freely?? Absolutely not, Solas. I know you like spirits but really, if you take all the barriers down, all Oblivion breaks loose. Literally! So Alessia sealed it all off. So no one could use the daedra for world domination ever again.”

Solas's face was shadowed in the fire light, serious expression in his eyes.

“A worthy aim,” Solas said quietly. “This Alessia must have suffered as a slave, so much so she never wanted to risk spirits invading again. So when she Veiled Tamriel, she made sure it was secure. I see. And now I believe I know why you have free mages. Spirits cannot cross your Veil unless specifically summoned. Mages aren't at risk unless they choose to put themselves at risk. You never needed to jail them.”

“No,” Elisif said, feeling uneasy. Something about this whole conversation was nagging at her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She knew Solas specialised in spirits and the Fade but he seemed to know rather more about the Veil than he was saying. Was he implying Thedas's Veil had been created by someone reluctant to do it? Had he seen a memory in the Fade of how Thedas got its Veil?

The prospect made her nervous somehow. Bidding Solas goodnight, Elisif took her leave, feeling suddenly edgy and desperate to get back to Maia, now a bit worried a spirit might have found its way through the apparently shoddily put together Thedosian Veil and started preying on her little girl.

She needn't have worried. Maia was fast asleep, apparently fine, and a quiet conversation the next morning revealed Madanach had already had a talk with Maia on spirits and not to make any sort of deal or bargain with any spirit without talking to him first. Except Maia frowned and, rather frustrated, went on to say none of the spirits wanted to talk to her anyway. They kept running away in terror, but she was only little, why were spirits frightened of her, Mama?

Elisif cuddled her daughter and whispered perhaps they were scared of a little dragon and that cheered Maia up a little. It certainly comforted Elisif, even if it did leave more questions to think about. But she had no time to really look into it, and she didn't have the skills to go dealing with spirits without mage assistance. Mage assistance, hmm. Elisif in that moment realised who could keep an eye on Maia while she was away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Solas had left that conversation feeling no less concerned than Elisif had been. Tamriel not only had a Veil, it was a full-on Wall, a divinely-mandated 'Thou Shalt Not Pass' that an individual mage might step through, or part briefly, but never truly sunder.

Tamriel was a land where their Andraste had succeeded and mages were free. Solas had no idea whether to be pleased or not. Sealing spirits away may have made the world safer but at a horrific price. So many spirits driven mad with longing for a world that had once been theirs but no more. So many people severed from their spiritual birthright. It was like moving through a world of Tranquil, and it seemed Tamriel was even worse. They didn't mistreat their mages but they feared the Beyond, and Solas feared moving through Tamriel would be worse than here.

But Elisif seemed different. She'd spoken of the power of the Dragonborn to seal the Gates and keep the world safe, and Solas could see it in her and in Maia too. They weren't Tranquil. No. They practically glowed with power, radiating a connection to the Fade – and power over it. They had the potential to reshape reality like a spirit could the Fade. Such power was unheard of, and yet Elisif didn't seem to have realised its full potential, and Maia was just a little girl. It was a mystery. And Solas had always believed the only point of mysteries was to solve them.

But this was something that was not going to be solved overnight, so Solas resolved not to worry and simply keep observing. That was a plan. This was good. Solas felt much calmer.

At least until he approached the Singing Maiden and heard something he'd hoped to avoid. The voice of the elf-Qunari.

“I say, you really don't have to do this...”

“Yes we do. We Chargers look after our own.” That was an Orlesian accent and the speaker turned out to be an elven woman with reddish-brown skin and an attitude problem.

“But I'm not a Charger,” Liriel protested, and the woman on her other side, a blonde Dalish elf, just sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Oh come now, you don't have anything else arranged and Bull clearly likes you. So you can have one of our spare tents and sleep at our camp fire. We're not letting a fellow elf fend for herself.”

“No elvhen sister is being left to the shems if I have anything to do with it,” the Orlesian said fervently, anger in her eyes and what she'd had to put up with in her alienage, Solas could barely imagine. The fact remained though that Liriel was no elf Solas had come across, in fact Solas had seen the Iron Bull being protective of her and assumed she was a Qunari, or a half-breed perhaps. But these two had adopted her as a fellow elf. Strange.

All three saw him approaching and went on the defensive immediately.

“What do you want, flat-ear,” the Orlesian sniffed, moving to stand in front of Liriel.

“Just because Bull isn't here, don't think we're defenceless,” the Dalish one added. “Liriel's with us.”

Liriel gritted her teeth and placed a hand on each of their shoulders, appearing resigned to the inevitable as she stepped forward.

“I can deal with one lone elven mage,” Liriel said, that strange blue armouring spell flaring in her hand and hardening her skin, like an arcane version of Qunari vitaar. “I hear your name is Solas. Everyone has been falling over themselves to tell me about the strange elven apostate who turned up in the wake of the Veil exploding and helped save Queen Elisif's life. I suppose we owe you for that, but please don't presume. Common courtesy still applies.”

Solas had a feeling that when she spoke of common courtesy, she meant it in the same way as an Orlesian lady – give me the respect I deserve or else.

“She means don't stare at her, flat-ear,” the Orlesian, who Solas would later learn was called Skinner after what she'd done to a couple of chevaliers who'd taken liberties with various members of her alienage, told him, eyes cold.

“I'll do my best to avert my eyes,” Solas said dryly. “I meant no offence. I only wished to see for myself what manner of creature had graced us with her presence. For a moment I wondered if you were a fellow elf. But it appears I may be wrong, if the Iron Bull is deferring to you. Are you a Qunari – no, I have seen their mages. Tal-Vashoth then.”

Liriel's golden eyes had narrowed, her lips pursing as she folded her arms, and both elves copied her, all staring him down. Hadn't they regarded her as a fellow elvhen earlier? Interesting. He'd assumed she was Tal-Vashoth due to Bull coming to her defence, but was she an elf after all? No kind of elf anyone in Thedas had ever seen before… but Solas had memories of the Fade, memories of even before the fall of Arlathan, of the leaders of the elvhen people, tall, golden-skinned mages of indescribable ability.

Solas knew what the Evanuris had looked like, and they'd looked like Liriel. He couldn't just ignore this. And the best way to get someone to do something was invariably to tell them they couldn't.

“Altmer,” Liriel said softly, and despite the quiet tones, there was definitely a sense that she was contemplating disembowelling him. “I'm an Altmer. High Elf, if you must. I have a Masters in Thaumatology from the University of Alinor, wartime experience as a healer mage, several decades research experience in both Alinor and Cyrodiil, and of late I'm a Visiting Research Fellow at HEMRI and lately Steward to the Archwitch. I'm here to offer vital magical expertise to Queen Elisif and King Madanach, and carry out the first Tamrielic research into the culture and geography of this… Thedas.” She leaned forward, staring at Solas as if this was all his fault. “So far, I am not impressed.”

Solas really couldn't fault her there. None of this should ever have happened and to see the world as it was now compared to the memories the Fade held… It grieved him on a daily basis, but here was an Evanura given flesh, connection to the Fade intact, power at her fingertips, and Solas hadn't missed the way she'd offhandedly spoken of decades of study despite looking like a young woman.

“Let me guess,” Solas said, smiling despite himself. “A land of uncultured barbarians who have castrated their entire magical ability, built their entire society around unproven myths and legends, and crushed an entire species from a misguided sense of racial superiority?”

“Yes – I mean, yes!” Liriel cried. “I don't know how you people stand it!”

Solas knew exactly how she felt.

“Because they don't know any better,” Solas sighed. “If you had seen the things I had in the Fade, elvhen civilisation at its height, you would weep at what Thedas has become.”

“I'm ready to weep now,” Liriel admitted. Something in her expression had softened though, and Solas could tell he'd got through to her. 

“If Alinor has half the beauties Arlathan had, then it must be wondrous indeed,” Solas said, inwardly thrilling at the idea of an elven civilisation in Tamriel that still retained its magical glories. “You will have to tell me all about it some time, I would be fascinated to hear more of elves in other lands.”

“I could do that,” Liriel said thoughtfully, her curiosity piqued. “And you've seen the actual elven civilisation as it was? By talking to spirits?”

“I have,” Solas said. “And I would be interested in an information exchange… if you were willing.”

Liriel nodded, and Solas knew he had her. 

“I'd like that,” Liriel said, suddenly looking a bit shy and not at all as authoritative as she had done earlier. Solas bowed, deciding she'd need time to think on this, time to stoke her curiosity enough for her to overcome her reservations.

“I've taken enough of your time for this evening, I'm sure,” Solas said, withdrawing. “Good evening, Liriel. Ladies.”

Three elves watched him go, with varying degrees of suspicion.

“Maybe he's not so bad as he seems,” Liriel said, wondering if her initial misgivings had been right after all.

“Maybe he is worse,” Skinner sniffed. “He thinks you are Qunari, you are beneath him. He thinks you are elven, suddenly he wants you. It is no different to how they change towards us when they see the ears.”

Liriel frowned, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“He's got memories from the Fade of the ancient elves of Thedas,” Liriel said, still uncertain. “I could learn all sorts!”

“Spirits lie, Liriel,” Dalish said, with all the air of someone who knew what they were talking about. “Even if he thinks his information is true, spirits could be misrepresenting all of it.”

“And we know men lie,” Skinner sniffed. “Liriel, they will say anything they have to in order to get into your smallclothes. He knows you are an elven researcher so he claims he has ancient elven knowledge. Any tavern drunk could claim the same.”

Many in the Reach had in fact tried, and Liriel had heard tall tales of ancient Reach knowledge from half of Deepwood Vale. All of it invariably turned out to be false, or had involved Liriel going with the Reachman in question back to his tent, and even Liriel could see where that would end up. It was one of the reasons she avoided the town now.

She'd not thought to encounter it here, but perhaps she should have. It was disappointing. All the same, she could usually see through most claims of ancient lore. She had faith in her own ability to verify Solas's knowledge.

“I could at least listen,” Liriel said hopefully. “If it all turns out to sound extremely unlikely, I can stop, right?”

“Huh. You can try,” Skinner said, in the knowing tones of one who knew from bitter experience that once in, it was harder than you ever thought to get out.

“If he proves to be trouble, you just let us know,” Dalish said, patting Liriel on the back as she led her into the tavern. “Mage or no. We've got ways of putting men in their place.”

Liriel had no trouble believing that. Following them into the Singing Maiden, Liriel began to ponder just what Solas might have to offer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“PRETTY HERALD!”

Elisif had barely got herself and Maia out of bed and down to the smithy to have Maia's measurements taken (and yes, Maia had definitely grown a bit since Elisif had last seen her) and some clothes and a child's bed ordered for her, before Cicero pounced. He looked very pleased with himself, cooing and snuggling and excited, and Elisif realised guiltily that she had no idea where he'd slept last night. Had he slept? It was always difficult to tell.

“Hello Cicero,” Elisif managed to say. “How were you last night? I hope you found somewhere to sleep!”

Delighted cackle from Cicero who'd gone a little bit pink.

“Oh, there is no need for pretty Elisif to worry about poor Cicero. Cicero found somewhere.”

Where, was the obvious question, but Elisif found herself afraid to ask. Fortunately, Maia provided a distraction by cuddling Cicero and squealing at him, and Cicero was never one to turn down a cuddle.

Then, as Maia was excitedly telling Cicero that she was getting new clothes and a bed of her very own, a shadow loomed over them all, and Elisif looked up to see someone even taller than she was, and she was taller than most in Haven.

Twin horns that were almost as wide as he was, an eye-patch, scarred face and muscles that even an Orc would envy. It was the Qunari from yesterday, the one in charge of the Chargers, the one called Iron Bull.

Elisif did her best to remember she was High Queen of Skyrim and could Shout him to the floor if she needed to, but all the same, even she was a bit intimidated. She did her best to hide it, but she had a feeling he'd noticed. Damn.

“Iron Bull, isn't it?” Elisif asked, remembering what she'd heard of him, partly briefings from Josephine and Leliana on his mercenaries, and then some breathlessly excited whisperings from Maia, who he'd apparently befriended on the way down here.

“That's right, ma'am,” Bull replied, amused smile on his face as he inclined his head. “And you'd be the famous Herald of Andraste. Lady Elisif of the… Avvar.”

The way he said that implied he knew damn well she was no Avvar, but in no way was Elisif giving him any answers unless pushed… and she could push back harder these days, even against a Qunari.

“That would be me,” Elisif said, allowing herself a smile at least. “I'm told I have you to thank for Maia's safe arrival. You and Cicero anyway.”

Said Cicero had detached himself from Maia and sidled over to Iron Bull's side, purring up at him and taking his arm, grinning in a way that said it all as to where he'd spent the night.

“Ah, we just made up the numbers and kept her entertained with piggy back rides and stories,” Bull said, patting Cicero on the back. “This one sorted out the bandits practically on his own. Although why he wound up naked in a pool of their blood, he still won't tell me. Liriel refuses to talk about it and Dorian claims Cicero turned into a savage beast and ripped them all to pieces, but I'm not taking a Vint's word for anything.”

Cicero giggled, sly grin on his face and Elisif decided the whole werewolf thing was best not mentioned. Word would likely get out soon enough.

“He's known for his skill,” was all Elisif was going to say on that point. “Well, I'm very grateful for your help. Maia speaks very highly of you.”

Maia had joined Elisif and was beaming up at Iron Bull, and Elisif began to seriously wonder just how many people Maia was befriending without her knowledge.

“That's a coincidence, my Chargers won't stop talking about her,” Bull laughed. “Dalish wants to adopt her and Stitches says he's got a job for her as an apprentice healer if she wants one. Even Skinner thinks she's cute, although don't tell her I said that.”

Maia actually looked pleased and excited at this. Elisif just patted her on the back, sincerely hoping Maia's life didn't go so catastrophically wrong that she ended up as healer to a mercenary band. Not that that was a bad thing, necessarily… just not what a Dragonborn princess usually ended up doing.

“Well, I'm glad she wasn't a bother,” Elisif said, cuddling her daughter. “And I'm glad she's here and safe. I won't forget it.”

Bull seemed a little embarrassed, waving the praise off with a shrug.

“Ah, don't mention it. Not going to let a small child wander off on her own, and I'd met Cicero before. Listen, Herald, I was wondering if we could talk. Got some things I want to discuss before my boys and I settle in.”

Ominous, but Elisif agreed, telling Cicero to take Maia for a wander while she spoke with Iron Bull. And with Cicero and Maia occupied with building a snow… something, Elisif fell in next to Iron Bull for a chat.

“So what were you after?” Elisif asked. “Has everything been according to your liking? I must admit, I've not been involved in the practicalities. By the time I knew you'd expressed interest in joining, Josephine had sorted the money out and Leliana and Cullen were arranging accommodation.”

“Yeah, that might be your problem,” Iron Bull said, not unkindly. “You don't have an Inquisitor. No leader. You have your inner council with everyone having their own domain but no one making decisions. Took Krem three tries to get someone to agree to hire us, and that was only because he ran into a Grey Warden friend of your husband's and that got Leliana's attention. What's going to happen in a crisis, Herald? Who'll make the decisions, give the orders? What happens when your council can't agree? When you need to present a united front? Thedas thinks you're Andraste's Herald, but Andraste wouldn't have got out of Ferelden if her people hadn't acclaimed her leader.”

_I'm not even Thedosian, and the inner circle know it. We're doing well to have got this far._

“So far, we have not needed one,” Elisif said stiffly. “But if we do, if orders need to be given, I'd give them.”

That seemed to get his approval at least.

“A good start. But you need to make sure the people who matter are prepared to follow them.” Iron Bull regarded her shrewdly, evidently not entirely convinced this was the case yet. “But who knows. You're well-respected in the Inquisition, it seems. There's the ones who've just got here, only heard the stories and don't really see you as real. And then there's the ones who've actually met you, and they seem to have fallen a bit in love with you. Trying to find someone who doesn't think much of you, and it's not an easy task. So they complain about the Inquisition but so far, they all seem to like you. Whether it'll be enough… who knows. You've not been tested yet.”

_If only you knew._ But now was not the time to talk of Alduin. Or indeed the Stormcloak war and resulting peace treaty and managing to ensure there wasn't a second uprising on either side after the Reach went independent – a feat managed mainly because Windhelm and Winterhold had been under Reachman rule firsthand and hadn't suffered, and everyone was a bit tired of endless fighting, even the Forsworn. Perhaps especially the Forsworn, who had coin in their pockets and a teleportal system and had discovered the joy of the annual summer vacation to the Gold Coast (the city of Anvil had been less pleased, but Reachman coin had a way of winning people over). But that was Skyrim and Elisif would be the first to admit Thedosian politics were something else entirely.

“We'll see,” Elisif said, politely keeping him at bay. “I'm not an untried youngster any more, I did have status back home.”

“I know,” Bull said, sole eye fixing her with a stare that unnerved her as she began to wonder just what he'd figured out. “I can tell you're noble. It's in the way you hold yourself and that it never seems to occur to you you might lose. You're used to being a leader. I can tell. They tell me you're an Avvar, and you do look like one, I admit. But.”

“But?” Elisif said, eyeing him carefully, and not liking what she was hearing. 

“But you're a very well-spoken Avvar,” Bull said knowingly. “I've not heard a single 'aye', 'owt' or reference to the Lady. That's an Avvar design of clothes but they're new and likely crafted here for you, they're not yours. Your accent is a bit Marcher, a bit Ferelden but not really either. And the Avvar don't have a ruler. They're decentralised tribes, each with their own thane but they don't raise armies. You're a leader, and you never got those skills dealing with farming disputes or organising raids on the next village. You're good with people you don't know personally, you're used to being in charge on a wide scale. You've done the cult thing before if I'm any judge. You should be famous and yet no one knew who you were before the Conclave.”

Elisif said nothing, heart pounding as she realised he was figuring her out. Maybe he didn't know about Tamriel, but it was only a matter of time. Elisif closed her eyes, panic threatening to engulf her… and then as it so often did, the dragon blood came to her rescue. 

_Tell him nothing. He has yet to earn the right. Tell the impertinent joor to mind his own business._

“I had no idea my personal life was that interesting… or relevant,” Elisif snapped. “Look, I'm here and I can close rifts. The Inquisition, all Thedas, presently needs me. If you have a problem with my decisions, then you have a problem, but please don't tell me who I was before is going to change your mind about staying. If it is, you're better off leaving now.”

The Iron Bull stopped and stared at her, frowning. Then suddenly he smiled and threw back his head, laughing.

Elisif was tempted to Shout him over, but she restrained herself and settled for narrowed eyes and a tapping of the foot, watching as the big Qunari pulled himself together.

“Oh, you're _good!_ Need to know only and you can enforce it too! That's good! I like that!” Bull was now openly smiling, approving. “Now, given that whatever you were is completely irrelevant to how well you're doing as Herald, are you willing to extend that to me?”

Stendarr's balls, why did she have a feeling this was going to be bad? 

“You have a deep dark secret, don't you?” Elisif sighed. “Go on then, what were you before you took up the mercenary business?”

“Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?” Bull asked, leading her off the path to stand under trees, just off the road.

Elisif had not.

“They're a Qunari order,” Bull explained. “They deal with internal security, information gathering, rehabilitating offenders – spies basically. Or rather… we're spies.”

Elisif had to think about that one and even had to ask him to repeat himself to make sure she'd heard what she thought she had.

“You mean you're a Qunari spy,” Elisif finally said, having to wonder what the catch was. “And… you just told me?”

“Yeah,” Bull admitted, having the grace to look a little bit sheepish about this. “Look, you'd have found out sooner or later. No sense keeping this from something called the Inquisition. Better to be up front about it. My boys know – some of them anyway. I just write reports back to the Ben-Hassrath. Lots of my boys write letters home.”

“Hardly the same thing!” Elisif cried, before rubbing her forehead. It'd look bad to send them away now, she couldn't send Bull away and not the rest of the band, they did have their uses, and it seemed Cicero had formed an attachment. Hmm. Cicero. Two could play at the spying game, and Elisif very much doubted Cicero was in love or anything… and his wife came first, that was a given.

“Look, what would you be reporting back?” Elisif sighed. Bull just shrugged.

“Basic factual stuff. Gossip. Nothing that would compromise your operations. I'll run them by Leliana before sending them. And I get reports too. Sometimes it's insignificant. Sometimes it's potentially big. Sometimes it's useful, sometimes it's not, sometimes it takes a good spymaster to put it all together and see the bigger picture. And you have a good spymaster.”

“I'll be sure to tell her you said so,” Elisif said sceptically, correctly guessing Leliana would be better at gauging this particular risk. Ben-Hassrath notwithstanding, he could come in useful. “All right, Iron Bull. You can stay. But if I see anything I don't like, you'll be out. Also, Cicero will want to know. That's if my eyes didn't deceive me and he did spend the night in your tent.”

“He did,” Bull admitted. “He's good company when he's not complaining he's cold or trying to manipulate me into something I'd have done anyway. Don't read too much into it. He's lonely and misses his wife and is worried about her. He told me they've got an open relationship and she has another partner back home. Cicero misses him too apparently. And their kids. I can't really imagine him with kids but there you go. Anyway, he's cute and has red hair and didn't have anywhere else to sleep. And he can cook. I don't mind having him around. He moves out when Eola gets back, I'm OK with that.”

Well, as long as Eola didn't mind. Madanach might have opinions on this subject as well. But it wasn't Elisif's problem, and if Eola and Madanach were never rescued… She didn't want to think about that. She'd find them. She had to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Elisif and Bull returned to see three figures approaching Haven's gates, two big burly warriors and one blonde elf with a bow… and once more, Maia was running to them squealing. Maia really needed to perhaps stop befriending everyone she met, but perhaps Elisif could forgive it this once, because one of the warriors had taken his helmet off and Elisif recognised him. 

Beside her, Bull started growling.

“Elisif, watch yourself. That man is no Vashoth or Qunari I ever saw.”

“I know,” Elisif replied, wondering what to tell him before deciding he'd likely figure it out eventually anyway. “He's an Orc.”

Before Bull could pull himself together and form a reply, Elisif took off, sprinting across the snow to where Borkul the Beast, feared bodyguard of the King in Rags, was kneeling down to say hello to and cuddle said King's tiny five year old.

“Borkul, Daddy's in trouble!” Maia cried. “Bad men took over Redcliffe, and now he's not Enchanter-General any more!”

“What???” Borkul roared. “Then why are we still here?? Blackwall, let's go, Sera, wanna help kill some bad guys?”

“Yeah, always!” the elf laughed, reaching for her bow. “Let's go, right?”

“WAIT!” Elisif cried, running over, because Maia had squealed and would likely have followed Borkul right out of Haven if not prevented. “Borkul, we've got it in hand!”

Borkul looked up, amazed, and then the big Orc brightened up and held out his arms.

“Elisif!” Borkul cried. “Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, High Queen!” Next thing Elisif knew, Borkul was giving her a bear hug and patting her on the back.

“It's good to see you,” Elisif said, hugging him back. “Have you come from Redcliffe too?”

“Been all over,” Borkul said, beckoning his friends forward. “High Queen, this is Warden Blackwall. We met him in the Hinterlands. Stopped one of the Templars going for Maia, and now she thinks he's wonderful.”

Sure enough, Maia was staring up at Blackwall with adoration in her eyes more often reserved for Elisif herself.

“Blackwall's a Grey Warden!” Maia announced. “Grey Wardens are heroes, Mama! They kill monsters and save people!”

Blackwall looked a little embarrassed by all the attention.

“Ah, well, we try our best,” Blackwall said awkwardly. “Someone has to hold back the forces of darkness, make the ultimate sacrifices, fight so the rest of the world doesn't have to. Might as well be us.”

Elisif found herself warming to him immediately.

“Could do with a little help fighting the forces of darkness,” Elisif told him. “Did you really protect my daughter?”

“Yes!” Maia cried. “One of the Templars was running at me with a sword, and Daddy was hurt, and Borkul and Cicero and Eola were being attacked too and we couldn't use our magic! And then Blackwall ran in and knocked the Templar down and put a sword through him, and there was blood everywhere and it was very scary, Mama. But then our magic came back and Daddy killed the rest of them with fire and now Blackwall's our friend! Mama? Mama, why are you shaking?”

Elisif had dropped to her knees and was now cuddling Maia, whispering an invocation to the Eight and clinging on to her daughter in terror, able to visualise this all too clearly to the extent she'd likely have nightmares for the rest of her life. 

“It wasn't quite that bad,” Borkul said hopefully. Blackwall however shook his head, scowling.

“It was exactly that bad and you know it,” Blackwall growled, before inclining his head in Elisif's direction. “But Maia's safe, and I was able to make the acquaintance of your husband and get them all safely to Redcliffe. They even helped me with some darkspawn. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lady Elisif. They tell me you're a brave warrior of no little renown.”

“Yes!” Maia cried, now beaming up at her instead. “Mama fights evil too! She's really good at it!”

“You've never seen me fight,” Elisif said, ruffling her hair and getting up, smiling warmly at Blackwall. “So, Warden Blackwall, are you here to help us too? Leliana mentioned you, I think. She said most of your order had vanished but she'd heard you were recruiting in the Hinterlands.”

“Aye, I was, until your man Madanach made me a better offer,” Blackwall said, nodding at her. “Your husband's an interesting one, ma'am. Wouldn't want to cross him, but he's a bright man.”

“He is that,” Elisif whispered, hearing yet another confirmation of a rejuvenated Madanach in Thedas, and feeling a lump in her throat at the thought. She wanted her husband back in her arms, the unpredictable bright spark she'd fallen in love back with her again. “And he's in trouble. A Tevinter magister's interfered with time in Redcliffe and changed the course of history. And now no one there remembers how it was before. No one except Maia.”

Blackwall looked appalled, his face going grey.

“By the Maker,” he breathed. “Bethany was in Redcliffe. Is she…?”

“No!” Maia cried. “She can't remember anything, none of them can! She doesn't… she doesn't remember you.” Maia's voice trailed off as she saw the heartbreak in Blackwall's eyes and realised there were probably better ways of breaking that sort of news to someone.

“Blackwall, I'm sorry,” Borkul said, patting Blackwall on the back. Blackwall just turned away, despairing.

“Don't,” Blackwall said quietly. “Maybe this is for the best. Mistress Hawke deserves better. Excuse me, I need to find my quarters. Lady Elisif.” 

“You're welcome,” Elisif whispered, letting him go and putting an arm round a distressed Maia who wanted to know if it was her fault.

“Of course not, sweetie,” Elisif whispered. “There's no good way to tell someone their girlfriend's forgotten them.”

Maia didn't look happy but at least she wasn't crying. Then Elisif was distracted by Cicero having an animated conversation with the elf that had accompanied Borkul and Blackwall.

“Sera Sera, pretty Sera!” Cicero was cooing. “Cicero hopes the Storm Coast was no trouble? Did you find any Grey Wardens?”

“No, just a lot of bears and shite,” Sera shrugged. “The Wardens came round looking for some bloke who used to be one of them, didn't find him and then buggered off somewhere else. Didn't say where. Found some nice Warden shite for Blackwall, and some weird glowing shardy wotsits, but that's all.”

“OOH!” Cicero gasped. “You must take those to pretty Elisif, she collects those too! She will like more of them. Here, here! Elisif! Lovely Elisif! This is nice Sera! Cicero met her in Val Royeaux while he was there with Fiona to meet you!” Cicero noticed the confused look on Elisif's face and then had to admit that due to picking up clues to find Sera rather than pay attention to what Fiona was up to, he'd missed Elisif completely.

“You'd taken the red things??” Elisif cried, folding her arms and tapping her feet, glaring at Cicero, who was pouting at her apologetically. “I must have spent hours looking for those!”

Cicero had gone scarlet, whispering sorry under his breath, while Sera started to snicker. Elisif turned to her, wondering who this elf was and why she'd gone to such lengths to get her attention.

“You were looking for me?” Elisif said, surprised. “Did you leave that note from the Friends of Red Jenny? Who was the baddie?”

“Cicero dealt with the baddie!” Cicero chirped, looking very pleased with himself and Elisif could only sigh.

“You said your name was Sera,” Elisif said, returning her attention to the elf, who nodded cheerfully.

“That's right!” Sera said, stepping forward, grinning as she looked Elisif over. “So you're… taller than I'd expected. Pretty too, for a human. And is that your kid? Hang on, you've got a kid?”

“Hello,” Maia whispered, clutching Frogella as she peeped out at Sera. 

“Er… hi?” Sera said faintly. “Little Herald? You don't glow as well, do you?”

Maia shook her head, and Elisif held up her hand, mark on show.

“No, just me,” Elisif said, a bit thrown by the reference to the mark. She still wasn't comfortable with the thing, but Sera seemed enthralled. 

“Wow,” Sera breathed. “Pretty! Gotta be a bit weird though, having a glowing green thing in your hand. Knifey here reckons you never had one before.”

Cicero was sorrowfully shaking his head, saying that she hadn't, she hadn't, she never had one back in Skyrim, only since coming here.

“Skyrim?” Sera said, frowning. “Never heard of the place. But whatever. Point is, you're here and you glow and you've got your all-shining world-saving Inquisition and you're gonna help people, right? Well, I wanna join. Me and my friends.”

“The Friends of Red Jenny,” Elisif said, remembering the note. “Are you Red Jenny? No, you said you were Sera.”

“That's me!” Sera said, still grinning. “And Red Jenny's just a name, yeah? The important thing isn't the name, it's the Friends. Lots of little people who want to be part of something bigger than they are so they can stick it to nobles they hate.”

“You're an assassination ring??” Elisif gasped, not having missed the squeal from Cicero. Sera looked a bit shifty but did shake her head.

“Nooo,” she said. “I mean, now and then, if the noble's a real… really bad.” Sera had noticed Maia's fascinated gaze and clearly been aware enough to censor the language, which was something at least. It had taken Borkul three years to finally get used to not swearing around kids in general and Maia in particular. 

“So what do you do then?” Elisif asked, and so Sera explained.

“Pranks mostly. Or taking their stuff. Look, it's simple. You got your big folk up here, all playing their stupid masked games and that. And then you got your little people, washing their clothes, sweeping their floors, cooking their meals, cleaning the bogs, that sort of thing. Well, little people can only take so much aggro before they get tired of being pushed around. That's where we come in. Me and my friends.”

“People ask you to make their employer's lives a misery,” Elisif said, grasping that part of it clearly enough. “What do you get out of it?”

Sera just smiled.

“Because unless you don't eat, sleep or, you know, have any bodily functions, you're never far from someone little,” Sera grinned. “We do a favour for pushed around servants, they do a favour for me in return when I need something. Which is how I was able to quickly track down this posh git who was plotting to off you and left you clues on how to find him. Except your mate Cicero found them first and went after him for you. There, er, wasn't a lot left of this guy afterwards. Tell her, Knifey.”

“It's true, it's true, he was a very bad man!” Cicero pouted. “He had guards and said he was after the Inquisition. So Cicero dealt with him and now he is no longer a problem. And then Cicero met nice Sera and said he would introduce you. And here we all are!”

Elisif never thought she'd see the day she'd recruit someone for anything based on Cicero's recommendation, but there was a certain ingenuity to Sera's little network. She just needed to make sure she understood what Sera was offering.

“So you're putting your network at the Inquisition's disposal?” Elisif asked. Sera nodded.

“Sure! You need something one of my friends can help with, we'll sort you out. Plus you get me too. You know, if you need anyone handy with a bow who can get locks open for you.”

Something Elisif made a note of. Could be useful, although she did have Varric already. All the same, an extra person available could come in handy.

“And in return?” Elisif asked. To her surprise, Sera just shrugged.

“The Inquisition sorts the demons out and the world stops being stupid. Look, I don't know what's so hard to get. You save the world, we help, everything goes back to normal. Easy, right?”

“Hardly easy,” Elisif sighed. “But you surely aren't doing this completely for nothing, are you?”

“Well, you find any interesting bits of loot you don't need, I'll have them,” Sera shrugged. “But other than that… look, you lot are supposed to be helping people. Keep doing that, and don't treat your little people like… rubbish, and we're good, right? Right.”

“Right,” Elisif said, still feeling a little wary and sure she was missing something, and very sure this little Friends network was definitely shady… but at the same time, she'd always paid her servants fairly, got them New Life and birthday presents, remembered their families and generally been nice. Even Madanach, notoriously irritable, might snap at his ReachGuard underlings or members of his High Command… but generally behaved himself when it came to the domestic servants. He'd spent too long having palace servants replaced by his own people during the Forsworn Rebellion to not realise the danger one's own servants could be if not treated right, and he certainly knew who the key ones were. She suspected she'd be OK. Probably. “All right then, Sera, welcome aboard. All I ask is if you do see anyone in the Inquisition treating their underlings badly, bring it to me first. I might be able to do something about it through more legitimate channels.”

“Knew you'd be all right,” Sera said, grinning. “Knifey was telling me you met your husband in prison and led a rebellion with him. That Thonar Stupid-Blood sounds like a right...” she noticed Maia watching her and coughed nervously. “Right. Anyway. Friends, All-Glowing Lady Herald. For as long as you're big heroes.”

“Friends,” Elisif promised, shaking hands with her. So the tally of allies now encompassed one Orlesian mercenary company and its Ben-Hassrath leader, one Grey Warden, one exile from Tevinter, one Seeker, one dwarf with a fancy crossbow, one mysterious elven apostate, her husband's Orc bodyguard, a Thalmor-raised High Elven scholar who'd relocated to the Reach, the last Dark Brother, a yet-to-arrive First Enchanter, and now the Friends of Red Jenny, plus eventually Eola and Madanach. If this all went to plan, and honestly there were a lot of things that could go wrong. All the same, Elisif could feel her husband, and could tell he was not only not in pain, he was feeling quietly confident. This Alexius might have Madanach imprisoned… but this was the King in Rags, and after the grisly fate the last person to lock him up had suffered, Elisif had a feeling Alexius wasn't prepared at all.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescue comes, with familiar faces for Madanach and Alistair both... but Madanach sees Alistair's for the first time and he's already regretting it. Meanwhile Elisif's heading into negotiations with Alexius, but it turns out nothing will go as planned for anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Hushed Whispers BEGINS! This one is relatively short but leads up to Elisif ending up in the dark future. I tried to make this one funny because the dark future's pretty traumatic for everyone.
> 
> I might have borrowed some real-world political phrasing for the Venatori - their political ideology can't help but remind me of someone. ;)

Madanach woke up, the song in his head again, the horrible, wonderful, awful song that wouldn't leave him alone, coming from the glowing red rocks in the other cell, and while he could never miss Cidhna Mine, at least he'd not had to put up with _this_. 

An illusion spell got rid of the song… but Madanach knew it wouldn't last forever, and the length of time they lasted was getting ever shorter. He had to get out of here.

“Madanach?” Alistair hissed from next door. “Madanach, I know you're awake, I felt you cast. For which, thank you by the way.”

“Not a problem,” Madanach said, scratching his head and rubbing his eyes as he blinked his way back to consciousness. “Is there something wrong?”

“Yes!” Alistair hissed. “I can hear something! In the corridor! Right at the end! Madanach, I think there's someone else here!”

That had Madanach awake in seconds and he listened carefully. There it was again. Clinking armour. As if someone was trying to sneak but not doing a very good job of it.

Now why would Alexius's people be sneaking down here. And the noise wasn't coming from the entrance either. It was coming from what should be a dead end.

“Alistair bion, we have intruders,” Madanach murmured. “How about you and I go and say hello to our new friends?”

“What?” Alistair whispered. “I mean… you think they're friendly or are you going to kill them? I can never tell what you mean when you start talking like that.”

Madanach wondered if it was worth tracking down Lyra Surana and telling her she'd made the right decision in backing Anora for queen of Ferelden. Alistair, bless him, was just not cut out for politics.

“You just sit tight and stay quiet, bion,” Madanach murmured, in the same tone of voice he used to reassure Maia when she was upset. “Leave all this to your uncle Madanach.”

“A – alright,” Alistair whispered, and Madanach set about casting some more illusions to conceal his magic. This was going to take some doing.

Frost magic. The strongest, most focused frost magic Madanach had at his disposal, all brought to bear on the lock of his cell. Finally, Madanach was done. The lock was fairly encased in ice, vapour gently subliming off it. Hopefully it would be enough. 

Madanach kicked the cell door, watching in some satisfaction as the lock shattered, the pieces flying into the corridor as the gate flung open, and if there was someone there, they'd know now he was on to them. Casting one last illusion spell to raise his voice and make it sound that bit more intimidating, Madanach spoke.

“If you're here for Alexius, lower your weapons. I think we can be of assistance to each other.”

Silence. And then a woman's voice, tinged with the soft burr of Orlais. 

“Is that him, do you think?”

“Yeah, that's him all right,” and Madanach had never felt so pleased or so proud to hear his bodyguard's gruff tones. Feeling happier than he'd done in days, Madanach stepped out into the corridor.

The happiness did not last.

“MADANACH MADANACH DEAREST SWEETEST MADANACH!”

Cicero slammed into him, arms round his waist, beaming up at him, and Sithis help him, if Cicero started grinding up against him, Madanach was turning the frost magic on him next. But Cicero, aside from the cuddling, was generally not overstepping the mark, and seeing as the lad had come to rescue him, Madanach could afford to be generous.

“You came to find me,” Madanach purred, ruffling Cicero's hair. “Isn't that sweet.”

“Yes!” Cicero squealed, letting him go. “And Cicero brought friends, look!”

Madanach turned to see Borkul approaching, arms outstretched.

“Boss! Good to see you!”

Madanach returned the embrace, feeling that bit better equipped to deal with things now his bodyguard had shown up. Everything always went better when you had a big, scary Orc at your back.

“Borkul, my man, it is good to see you again, remind me to offer you a pay rise,” Madanach murmured as Borkul patted his back and laughed, promising to do that very thing.

And then another voice, and this was a surprise, albeit a welcome one, as Dorian made his presence known.

“Madanach! There you are! Honestly, man, what were you thinking? Staying back to save the rest of us? Heroic last stands? Doesn't suit you, old chap. You're better off launching a cunning plan and laughing while your enemies fall for it, if I'm quite honest.”

“Yes and if I'd had more than a day, I'd have planned something, as it is, it caught me out,” Madanach sighed. “Dorian Pavus. Good to see you, now come here.”

Madanach swept Dorian into a hug, relieved beyond all measure because that meant if Dorian had found Borkul and Cicero, that likely meant Maia was all right too – probably not here, of course, but she'd made it to safety.

Dorian had stiffened and was patting him rather awkwardly on the back, as if he'd never been hugged before. Did Tevinters never touch or something? Madanach let him go, relieved to have it confirmed the young man was trustworthy.

“Maia. Is she all right?” Madanach asked, and Dorian did smile at that as he brushed his robes down.

“She's fine. We got to Haven, Liriel's looking after her, we also found her mother. Who you utterly failed to mention was the bloody Herald of Andraste, who heard what had happened and promptly organised a rescue operation, look.”

He indicated the group behind him of lightly-armoured soldiers behind him, all wearing armour emblazoned with the fiery eyeball and sword logo of the Inquisition. All here, apparently on Elisif's orders.

She knew. Elisif knew he was here. Elisif had found him and had come for him. Just as he'd always hoped she would.

Madanach felt his heart contract and tears in his eyes as he realised she couldn't be far away, she'd have wanted to lead this one, she might even be here! In fact, there was a woman with red hair just visible from underneath her hood, a woman in a grey mail suit kneeling in front of the cell next to his, reaching out to touch the hand of the man inside.

“Alistair?” she gasped, and Madanach's heart sank as he realised it wasn't his wife but some Orlesian woman who everyone else seemed to be giving a wide berth – almost certainly the Inquisition agent in charge then. “Alistair, is that you??”

And she knew Alistair from somewhere. Mysterious… until Alistair himself solved it.

“Leliana?” he cried, and Madanach recognised the name of the bard who'd accompanied the Hero of Ferelden. Clearly not all of Lyra's companions had done badly for themselves after the Blight then. “Leliana, thank the Maker! I am so pleased to see you, could you get me out of here?!”

“Of course!” Leliana said, producing an impressive array of lockpicks and setting to work, and impressively getting the door open seconds later. Madanach made a mental note to watch this one. She was almost certainly dangerous. Then Leliana reached out a hand to help Alistair to his feet, and Madanach realised he was in trouble.

Alistair looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, hair shaggy and out of control, skin covered in grime, several weeks' uncontrolled beard growth on his face, dressed in rags, weakened, underfed, in need of a long hot bath, a shave and a haircut, change of clothes, a good fifteen hours sleep and a good feeding… and despite all these manifest disadvantages, still managing to be an attractive man. 

Madanach was definitely, definitely in trouble. And it was about to get worse.

“Madanach,” Alistair was saying, looking desperately around. “Where's Madanach?? I heard him talking, I heard...”

Alistair's eyes fell on him, the only other one here in prisoner's rags and in dire need of a bath, and Madanach had not at all been prepared for the raw vulnerability he saw there.

“Madanach?” Alistair whispered uncertainly. Madanach nodded, not sure what to say to a man he'd just spent the best part of a week sharing life stories with. Perhaps there wasn't. Either way, Alistair saved him a job by letting Leliana go and staggering towards him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“We did it, we got out of here!” Alistair whispered. “Thank you! Thank you so much, I – I wouldn't have made it without you!”

“Oh, I think you're stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Madanach murmured, closing his eyes and holding Alistair tight, knowing this was wrong and likely to lead to tears later down the line, his, Alistair's, Elisif's, he didn't know but this could never end well. Worst thing was, this wasn't even sexual (well, not just sexual, Madanach could definitely see himself bending this one over a table if the opportunity arose). No, Madanach had a horrible feeling that, well, _feelings_ were starting to get involved. Because Alistair was a bit broken too, wasn't he, and he was cute and friendly and Madanach wanted to fuss over him and take care of him as much as he wanted to kiss him. Perhaps more.

Elisif was not going to be pleased with this state of affairs, and Madanach had a horrible feeling she wouldn't find the potential Dragonborn thing an exciting curiosity either, she'd want to murder a rival.

Madanach determined not to let that happen. And so it was with some reluctance that Madanach gently unpicked Alistair and pushed him back a little, patting him on the shoulder.

“My daughter is around here somewhere, as are my things,” Madanach said, changing the subject. “Shall we find those, end Alexius, find my wife, who is definitely around here somewhere, then focus on getting out of here? May I take it we're all invited back to the Inquisition headquarters at Haven?”

“Of course,” Leliana said, stepping forward to get a good look at him. “So you're Madanach! We've heard so much about you!”

Madanach could imagine. But Leliana looked impressed so he guessed it wasn't all bad.

“You're Inquisition, aren't you,” Madanach said. “And you in particular knew Alistair during the Blight – don't look so worried, it was all complimentary. You're Sister Leliana of the Chantry, former bard of Orlais and now someone senior in the Inquisition. And you know my wife. My Elisif.”

Leliana nodded, smiling.

“I have that honour, yes. My position involves handling complicated situations and resolving them through covert means when more conventional ones will not suffice-”

“She organises the Inquisition's vitally important stabbing of its enemies!” Cicero cooed, and Leliana sighed wearily. Madanach could sympathise.

“Cicero,” said Madanach firmly, taking Cicero by the shoulders and turning him to face the door leading upwards to the rest of the castle. “Why don't you watch the entrance and deal with anyone coming to investigate, hmm? Guards usually come in pairs and they're both going to be wearing metal plate with orange trim and full-face helms. But if it's a young male Tevinter on his own with his face visible, ambush rather than kill, might be Felix. He's… I think he's on our side.”

“I'll go with him,” Dorian announced, correctly concerned Cicero might decide it was better to be safe than sorry and stab Felix anyway. “I know what Felix looks like, I can point him out. Everyone else, kill on sight, understood.”

Cicero rolled his eyes and beckoned for Dorian to follow him.

“Come on then, Tevinter mage. But you had better keep quiet and follow Cicero's lead and if it is not Felix, Dorian Pavus either helps or stays out of the way.”

“I'll happily assist, don't you worry, it's their own fault for joining a cult anyway,” Dorian said airily, following Cicero, and Cicero relaxed just a little, giggling as he skipped away.

“Hee! Cicero may have to revise his opinion of you, Tevinter mage. Cicero always has time for friends who understand him.”

Both men fell silent as they disappeared into the shadows, lying in wait for anyone approaching, and Madanach had to hand it to Dorian, the man was getting proficient at jester-wrangling, always a good thing if you were going to be part of Madanach's court. Madanach turned his attention back to Leliana, clearly the spymaster of the Inquisition.

“So, you handle the spies and covert operations. Such as jailbreaking the Herald's husband from one of the most secure fortresses in Ferelden.”

Leliana smirked, exchanging glances with Alistair, who was looking a bit sheepish.

“It's not the first time I've had to break in,” Leliana said, grinning. “This is Alistair's childhood home, and we had to break in during the Blight as well. That time it turned out to be demonic possession of the Arl's son.”

Alistair had told him the story, although Madanach hadn't thought someone else might use the same passage in order to rescue them. Of course, he'd not known Leliana was in the Inquisition either.

“Whereas now it's just Tevinter supremacists trying to hijack the mage rebellion and apparently using time magic to do it,” Madanach said, grimacing. “Take care, Leliana, they are dangerous. Our best bet is taking them by surprise.”

“Yes, which is why I came in person and brought my best,” Leliana said, smiling knowingly. “Including Cicero. He's such a sweet boy, and always so enthusiastic!”

“He is that,” Madanach had to admit. “We should get going, just tell me one thing. Is Maia definitely all right?”

Leliana nodded, eyes softening at the mention of Maia.

“She made it to Haven, and she's fine, other than missing her papa. She's there now, your friend Liriel's looking after her while Elisif's handling this. We're all very fond of her, she's adorable!”

Leliana's eyes had lit up as she spoke, and Madanach decided that he could have a lot of time to spare for this woman. But something she'd said had grabbed his interest, and with the red rocks of death a bit further away and his head clearing, he realised he could sense Elisif – above him and not far away. Mara, she really was in the castle! Well, of course she was. Of course she'd come herself. She was here to save him. Again. 

Madanach wanted to see her very very much.

“Is Elisif here?? Where is she?” Madanach asked, guessing his emotions must be showing, because Leliana still had that gentle smile on her face, and Alistair was grinning too, the cheeky brat.

“She's meeting with Alexius, holding negotiations for borrowing the mage rebellion to help close the Breach,” Leliana said. “We needed Alexius's eyes elsewhere while we gained access.”

Wherever Gereon Alexius's attention fell was a dangerous place indeed, and Madanach felt a sense of foreboding settle over him. He'd have felt easier knowing Elisif was leading a full-on assault on the castle, knowing she'd gone into diplomatic negotiations worried him. Not that Elisif was bad at diplomacy, quite the contrary… but Alexius would not be negotiating in good faith.

“We need to find her,” Madanach said, worry prickling on his spine. They needed to track her down before time ran out… and Alexius had already rewritten time once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“The invitation was for the Herald only.”

Elisif narrowed her eyes, growling under her breath, reminding herself she needed to buy time for the rescue party. They would be sneaking in right now, hopefully in the castle, the mission being to creep in, get Madanach and Eola out of the cells, then creep into the throne room and start dealing with the Venatori by stealth.

But they couldn't do that if they were discovered, which was why Elisif had had Josephine set this up, and why Elisif wasn't losing her temper now.

“They're my personal assistants. They go where I do,” Elisif said imperiously, gesturing at Cassandra and Varric, both of whom assisted with staring down the hapless steward. Stronger men than him had wilted before Cassandra Pentaghast's glare, and the man just sighed and gave in.

“As you wish, Herald,” he said, before leading through to the main throne room where Alexius was waiting in the Arl's seat. The place reminded her of Dragonsreach a little – the timbers and stone and the Arl's high seat would have fitted in to any Hold in Skyrim. But this was not Skyrim, she was not Queen, and alas summary execution wasn't on the agenda. Yet.

“Well now,” Alexius purred, tenting his fingers as he watched from underneath that ridiculous red hood that reminded her of Cicero's hat. “The Herald of Andraste herself, gracing us with her presence at last. Welcome, dear lady, welcome. So what can we do for you today?”

“Spare me the pleasantries, you know why we're here,” Elisif said, striding up to the throne, eyes never leaving him. Cassandra and Varric could keep an eye on the room for her.

“Straight to the point. I'd heard you weren't one for petty civilities,” Alexius purred, and sod the plan, he really was getting impaled in a second. “It's true we both know why you need me. You're after my mages.”

“Are we allowed no say in our fate?” an Orlesian voice demanded, and Elisif turned to see a familiar figure emerge, an elven woman in her fifties but still clear-skinned and bright-eyed, Grand Enchanter Fiona herself.

Alexius gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“You surrendered the care of the mages over to me when we agreed our own bargain, my dear,” Alexius told her, sounding patient and weary as if he'd explained this multiple times to a dimwitted child. “Fiona, you wouldn't have signed your people over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives, would you?”

“I...” Fiona turned to Elisif, who was still busy to reconcile the desperate woman before her with the commanding presence she'd seen in Val Royeaux. What had Alexius done to these people?? Elisif decided to do whatever she could to help them.

“I think the Grand Enchanter's advice would be invaluable,” Elisif said, inclining her head with a smile to Fiona.

“My thanks,” Fiona said, surprised. “I had not expected you to be so reasonable, Herald. Can it be you're more than the Chantry puppet some say you are?”

“I'm no Chantry puppet,” Elisif promised. “The Chantry clerics can't seem to decide if I'm a heretic or a saviour.”

“It's possible to be both,” Fiona said, a strange expression crossing her features. “I can't help feeling I know you somehow. Have we met?”

_Yes, and you were the leader of a powerful faction with an Enchanter-General at your back and an arcane army, and now look at you._

“I don't believe so,” Elisif said quietly, knowing better than to give away that she knew about the time switch. “But my advisers have told me all about you.”

“Indeed,” Alexius said, looking annoyed already at the two women talking and appearing to ignore him. “Now that you're both done talking, might I suggest we get down to – Felix? What are you doing out of bed, you said you were unwell...”

“I'm feeling better,” this Felix announced, walking into the room, and while he was wearing similar clothes to Alexius, he was a good thirty or so years younger from the look of it. And from the way he wasn't deferring to the magister at all, Elisif wondered if this was perhaps his son. “So Eola said I could come and watch the talks if I liked.”

Eola?? She wasn't locked up? Elisif's eyes turned to the slightly-built blonde figure next to him, narrowly failing to keep the surprise off her face. Thankfully Alexius was too distracted to notice, because it was definitely the Reach-Princess Harbinger. Dressed in Circle mage robes, the warpaint gone, but it was definitely her. A slight smile flickered across Eola's face as she bowed in Elisif's direction but it was soon extinguished.

“He seems fine to me, Magister,” Eola said calmly. “No sense keeping a healthy man cooped up, is there now?”

“He's not healthy, he's-!” Alexius almost shrieked before getting himself under control with an effort. “Fine, fine, but if his health suffers or he becomes unwell, I will hold you responsible, Enchanter.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Eola purred, mysterious little smile on her face, and if Elisif had been surprised before, she was now extremely intrigued. Eola was almost certainly up to something, and Elisif was glad of another ally.

“So,” Elisif said, eager for the negotiations to start. “We're after mages to help seal the Breach. We were hoping the rebellion had them.”

“I do have mages,” Alexius purred, steepling his fingers together. “Now, what is the Inquisition offering me for them?”

Elisif didn't miss Fiona flinching, and she didn't miss Eola staring at her either, mouthing something at her in Tamrielic. Something that looked a lot like 'cause a scene'.

Elisif could do this… or rather, her 'negotiators' could. She leaned quietly to Varric.

“Start haggling. Name something utterly outrageous.”

Varric stepped forward, cheerfully starting out with some nonsense designed to draw things out and keep him waiting, before finally getting to the point and naming a fee for saving the world involving the Tevinter Chantry acknowledging the Sunburst Throne's authority, several thousand slaves sent to Kirkwall, including all the ones abducted from Darktown and Lowtown over the years and the ones trafficked while fleeing the Fereldan Blight, oh, and Archon Radonis's hat. You know, his favourite one, the one he couldn't live without. The one that all Minrathous was wearing copies of last summer.

Alexius had gone a curious shade of purple, lightning already crackling across the back of his chair, and his magic was starting unravel with his temper, Elisif could tell.

“That is not how haggling is supposed to work!” Alexius roared. “You are supposed to be paying me, not the other way around!”

Intimidate him, Elisif had whispered to Cassandra. Seriously have a go at him and don't let him get a word in edgeways. Cassandra, it turned out, was quite capable of playing the bully when she had to, because next thing anyone knew, Cassandra had strode up to him and started jabbing fiercely at him.

“How dare you insult our intelligence??” Cassandra snapped. “We are the only ones with the ability to heal the Breach, and you think our price for allowing the rebel mages to assist would be cheap? I did not believe someone capable of surviving the Magisterium for so long would be such a fool!”

“I? A fool? You are the ones not taking this seriously!” Alexius shouted.

While Cassandra responded with yet more abuse, and Varric spread his hands and told him an offer was an offer, but he supposed he could relent on the Chantry part seeing as Orlais didn't presently have a Divine available, and the Archon's second favourite hat might be acceptable, Elisif sidled over to a confused Fiona.

“Fiona,” Elisif whispered. “Will the mages still follow you? The southern ones, not the Tevinters.”

“I – yes,” Fiona said, sounding a little uncertain at first, but she seemed to draw some sort of strength from Elisif and nodded, straightening up. “Yes. Yes, they'd still follow me.”

“Then come with me,” Elisif urged. “Bring them all to Haven. You can live there as free mages, no Templar involvement with your part of the camp, and I'll even tell the world Andraste wants magic to be free if you like.”

“You'd do that?” Fiona whispered. “But… Andraste's surely not told you that. They'll know it's political.”

“It doesn't matter,” Elisif hissed. “Fiona, I… I have a daughter. She's five. She's already good with magic. I'm not letting anyone take her to a Circle. They sound horrible! Also she's got a phobia of Templars, it would destroy her. Fiona, please. Come with me, and I'll deal with Alexius for you.”

Something in Fiona's eyes had changed as soon as Elisif mentioned her daughter, some haunted sadness in her eyes followed by grim determination.

“Yes,” Fiona said, and that was more like, that was the proud mage leader Elisif remembered. “Most of our people are outside the castle, and we outnumber the Tevinters. Eola's about the only one here. Also they have Enchanter Madanach prisoner.”

“I know,” Elisif whispered, not even bothering to hide her smile. “Something I think they may be about to regret. Come on, let's go, Eola can handle herself.”

“Right,” Fiona said, taking Elisif's arm. “Let's see what he does. I've dealt with darkspawn, I can handle one mage.”

The two women began to make for the exit, and they'd got halfway down the hall before Alexius realised what was going on.

“Wait!” he bellowed, outraged as he pushed Cassandra aside and strode forward. “Where are you two going?”

Elisif turned to face him, about certain that this was going to turn nasty, but also certain she could take him on if need be. It was just the soldiers… and then she heard it – the sound of a knife carving through flesh, a gurgle of pain and a gentle thud, followed by a soft giggle.

It was a good thing the floorboards were dark, because Elisif realised easily two-thirds of Alexius's Venatori were either missing, with blood trails indicating where the body had been hauled away, or lying dead on the floor, blood pooling beneath them. She risked a glance at Eola, who had closed her eyes, happy little smile on her face, which meant she knew her husband was nearby.

If violence hadn't been on the cards before, it was now.

“We've concluded negotiations,” Elisif said calmly. “Fiona and I reached an agreement, so now we're leaving. We'll have the rebellion out of Redcliffe within hours.”

The stunned look of bewildered fury on his face was priceless, and Elisif had to fight not to laugh.

“You – you!” Alexius raged. “The mage rebellion are under _my_ protection, you need to negotiate with _me!_ ”

Elisif glanced at Fiona, who folded her arms and turned to face Alexius with all the confidence of someone who'd faced darkspawn, Templars and Enchanter Vivienne at her cattiest, and who had suddenly rediscovered her leadership skills.

“Magister Alexius, I regret to inform you the agreement you had with the mage rebellion is now null and void,” Fiona said calmly. “Elisif has made us a better offer, so we've decided to join the Inquisition instead.”

“You will do no such thing!” Alexius roared. “We had an agreement! I will have it enforced!”

“Good luck with that,” Dorian announced, emerging from the shadows and coming to stand beside Elisif. “If it's the arrangement I think you're using, that only takes effect once the candidates for citizenship cross the Tevinter border. It's got no legal force while they're still in Ferelden. Unless you want to petition Queen Anora for assistance. I'm sure she'll be more than reasonable to a man who kicked one of her Arls out of his home.”

“You – you!” Alexius shouted at Dorian. “Why am I not surprised to see you involved? I am trying to make our country great again! To restore our Imperium to what it should be!”

“That Imperium is gone!” Dorian cried. “You'd turn us into conquering monsters! I don't want that for Tevinter and once, neither did you! Alexius, let them go. Let them all go. Let Elisif have the mages, go home, give it up.”

“No!” Alexius cried, real fear in his eyes. “I cannot! The Elder One has ordered – and he promised me Felix...”

All eyes on Felix who just shook his head.

“He's not going to keep his word,” Felix sighed. “You know it, I know it. Surrender to the Inquisition, they might be able to protect you.”

“They're no match for the Elder One!” Alexius cried. “And you'll die without him!”

“Everyone dies,” Felix said quietly, but he'd reached into his pocket. Carefully, he withdrew a phial containing something that looked awfully like blood. Felix glanced at Eola, who nodded.

“Everyone dies, but you can choose how,” Eola said quietly. “If this works, you have your life back. If not… Elisif and I will make it quick.”

“I know. Thank you,” Felix said, opening the phial and downing the contents.

“Felix, NO!” Alexius cried, leaping out of the throne and towards his son. It was too late. Felix had taken the blood and the effects were beyond anyone's control now as Felix cried out in pain and sank to his knees, hands to his face, black fur starting to sprout everywhere, and seconds later it was done, Felix letting out an unearthly howl as a full-blooded werewolf stood before them.

“Welcome to the pack, brother,” Eola purred, looking proudly at the werewolf and stroking its fur, and Elisif had her face in her hands, no idea how to even begin dealing with this, particularly as Fiona had cried out, staff held defensively, and would likely attack at the slightest provocation. A rebel Circle mage she might be, but she was still a Circle mage, and werewolves were a thing out of nightmare for most in Thedas.

“Felix!” Alexius sobbed, devastated. “What have you done?”

Eola stepped back, raising a ward and casting her mage armour, already prepared for a fight, but it wasn't her Alexius went for. Something in him seemed to sense all too clearly who was really behind this.

“You!” he roared at Elisif. “This is all your fault! Well, no more! I shall erase you from time itself, and the Elder One shall undo whatever you did to my son!!”

He raised his staff, clutching at an amulet round his neck, and Elisif barely had enough time to raise her shield before a strange green spell swept towards her.

“No!” Dorian cried, raising his own staff with his right hand, his left hand going round Elisif's shoulders and a warding spell of some kind flaring into being. 

Two spells collided, magic exploded, and as Elisif found herself flung backwards, clinging to Dorian, her vision dominated by strange magical sigils, all she could think was that this reminded her of staring into an Elder Scroll. Then all was darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves for next chapter, it's Elisif in the future where she finds out what happens without her being around to stop it. I warn you now, it's traumatic - death, heartbreak, all hell breaking loose, basically, did you get attached to a character? Something awful happens to them in that dark future.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexius's magic has sent Elisif and Dorian into the future, resulting in a whole year in which Elisif wasn't there to handle things... and the results have been nothing short of catastrophic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday tomorrow, so you're all getting a present! An update of not one but two chapters! Because they're set in the dark future of In Hushed Whispers and they're depressing and traumatic, so we're getting it out of the way. Bad things happen to just about everyone, there's deaths onscreen and off, and do you have a favourite? A character you're particularly attached to? Pick them up and squish them, because something bad happens to them.
> 
> Just take heart from the fact that this is what happens if Elisif fails. She's not gonna fail, right? Right.
> 
> Anyway, I tweaked the plot a bit as well. Rather than Redcliffe Castle being Alexius's stronghold, I've had Madanach murder Alexius in revenge because what else is he gonna do on seeing a strange spell make his wife vanish? And what with Madanach, Cassandra, Varric, Leliana, Eola, Cicero, Alistair, Fiona and lots of Inquisition and rebel mages all over the castle, it becomes Madanach's stronghold instead. Except things don't go any better, in fact I think I've made it more harrowing, not less. Anyway. Enjoy?

Elisif woke up in a dungeon, on her knees in a pool of water, the siren song of red lyrium at the back of her mind, and it was that sickening lure rather than anything else that had her on her feet and staggering for the open door. Where was she?? Was she still in the castle? The last thing she remembered was being hit with that spell and Dorian trying to ward it…

“Dorian?” she called, remembering holding on to him for dear life. He must be round here somewhere, oh Stendarr, please don't let him be dead, he was too young to die.

Low groan from behind her and Elisif turned to see Dorian staggering to his feet, grimacing as he brushed the water off him and splashed over, about as keen to linger near the lyrium as she was.

“Are we dead?” Dorian sighed. “Maker, we're not, are we. I don't know what your afterlife looks like but even the Tevinter Chantry wouldn't describe it like this.”

“This isn't the Nord afterlife,” Elisif said, shivering as she looked around. “I've been to the Nord afterlife, it is nothing like this!”

“You've been… dare I even ask… how??” Dorian looked simply fascinated, apparently forgetting for a moment they'd been hurled through the Void by a spell gone wrong.

“Through a portal,” Elisif sighed. “No, I didn't create the portal, I borrowed one that was already there. The king of the dragons had already gone through it to feed on the souls of the dead, one of whom was my ex-husband, so I had to go after him and stop him.”

Dorian was staring at her, looking even more confused.

“I swear I understand less now than I did before, and I'm sure the story is absolutely riveting and I'll be sure to ask Varric to tell me when we've got a free evening. But seriously, you went? Physically? And… and no taint or corruption or eternal damnation or anything?”

“No,” Elisif said, itching to get off this topic and find where she was, and more importantly, where everyone else was. Madanach, where was Madanach, he was in this place somewhere, she could feel him. “It was nice, pretty, peaceful, endless mead, massive gardens, rivers to sit by, once I'd killed the dragon anyway, and everyone there thanked me afterwards for saving them and promised they'd sing of my glories in Sovngarde forever.”

“You don't look blighted,” Dorian admitted. “You're definitely sure there were no darkspawn?”

“No darkspawn,” Elisif told him. “Probably something to do with them needing my help and me giving it rather than attempting to force my way in via mass human sacrifice and take power by force. Look, this is all very well, but where are we? And what did that spell do? And where is my husband, we need to find Madanach, we-”

Her marital bond flared into life as Madanach on the other end had woken up to the fact she was back, and Elisif found herself hit with a wave of raw emotion, sadness, anger, desperation, despair, sorrow, deep deep unhappiness and an all-consuming need. Which was not what she'd been getting off him before – he'd seemed grimly determined when she left. Not this needy and emotional. Mara, how long had she been gone??

“I think we are still in the castle,” Dorian said, looking around him. “This does look like the dungeon section we rescued Madanach from. He's all right by the way, Cicero and I went ahead but he was literally right behind us with Leliana and the others.”

“He's not all right,” Elisif whispered, closing her eyes and desperately trying to soothe him and it worked… but only a little. “We need to find him. Dorian, please tell me what that spell did!”

“I rather think it was intended to cast you out of time completely,” Dorian said sombrely. “Erase you completely from the timeline as if you'd never existed. Which – look, yes, I know that would have dire consequences for everyone...”

“Dire??” Elisif gasped. “If I don't exist, nor does Maia, Madanach's likely dying on a Forsworn camp if they didn't kill him for being weak, and Alduin the World-Eater is, well, eating the world.”

“Yes, quite,” Dorian said, sounding very calm and reasonable despite the fact the mention of Alduin would have no meaning whatsoever to him. “Fortunately, I was able to ward off the worst of the spell, which means neither of us actually got wiped out of history. Of course, that means we need to find out where we did end up. Elisif. Elisif, please don't look at me like that. I'm trying to help!”

“Well, you're not!” Elisif cried. “We don't know where we are, my husband needs me, anything could have happened in the time we've been gone…!”

“Time – of course, we've not just moved through space but through time!” Dorian laughed. “That's amazing you could tell though. Look, don't worry. If we can find the amulet Alexius used to cast the spell, I might be able to fix it.”

“Fix it how?” Elisif said, managing to calm down sufficiently to at least listen even if Dorian was coming across as just a little bit patronising. “Can you send us back?”

“Yes,” Dorian promised. “With any luck I can get us back to just a few minutes after we left. I'm sure the others are still where and when we left them. Relatively speaking.”

All very well, but Madanach was not presently where they left him, he was mentally falling apart and it was taking all her emotional reserves to try and soothe him.

“I need to find my husband,” Elisif said, turning to see where this corridor might lead. “Come on, he's above us so we need to head up, let's go.”

“You can tell where he is? Fascinating!” Dorian exclaimed, and Elisif mentally cringed at the idea of yet more arcane trivia to have to explain to Dorian Pavus.

_He can't help being curious. He's a mage, they're all like that._

_He is being very annoying. He could stand to stop looking so_ surprised _all the time whenever he hears of our skills._

_He's a Tevinter. He can't help it. He's going to get us home._

_He'd better._

Elisif hoped Dorian could live up to his word. She hoped Madanach had kept Alexius's amulet. She hoped… she hoped Madanach was all right. That she'd not been gone too long. That the world hadn't fallen apart. That Maia hadn't missed her too much _(lies, she will have been heartbroken and you know it)._

Elisif tried not to think of her baby unhappy and missing her and not knowing where her mama was. She had to find out what had happened to everyone, find Madanach and then see about getting home.

She had a horrible feeling she was not going to like what she found out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Silent, empty corridors, silent, empty cells. More red lyrium tucked away in isolated corners. And then exploring one section of the cells revealed a room that wasn't empty… but what was there made Elisif sick to the stomach.

Eola was there in her Circle robes, at a desk covered in books and notes and parchment, and there was some glass apparatus on another table doing something alchemical with blood, and some of it looked like darkspawn blood – and were those darkspawn internal organs in jars?? And… oh gods, that was an actual hurlock shackled to the wall in one of the cells. Still alive from the look of it. Ewww.

Elisif really shouldn't be surprised at Eola doing experiments on darkspawn, but what really shocked her was the figure in the cell nearest Eola. Half redfurred beast, half human skin albeit with black blotches all over it and red lyrium seeming to be embedded in him. Cicero, or what was left of him.

“Eolaaaa,” the thing that had once been Cicero crooned at Eola. “Eolaaaa, I can hear the song! It's calling to me! It's Mother! It is! She wants you to let me out so we can kill things!”

“It's not Mother, sweetie,” Eola said, her voice trembling only slightly. “Hush now. Rest. Maybe we'll go stabbing next time the castle's attacked.”

“Stabbing!” monster-Cicero squealed. “Cicero likes that! Cicero likes nibbling on Red Templars. They make the song louder!”

Eola laughed nervously, but Elisif could tell she was on the edge of a nervous breakdown, and dear gods what had happened to Cicero??

Cicero sniffed the air, and those inhuman glowing red eyes turned towards her.

“Visitors!” Cicero squealed. “Cicero hardly gets visitors! Only nice Leliana and the Reach-King and that boy. Sometimes the dwarf. But you – wait. You're… pretty Elisif? And the Tevinter?? But… you are dead! Aren't you??”

Eola had stopped, turned, stared at Elisif, but not a word came out of her mouth. Elisif didn't think she'd ever seen Eola shocked before.

“Elisif,” Eola whispered. “You're alive.”

Elisif nodded, not sure what else to say, and then Eola practically threw herself at her.

“Where _were_ you??” Eola shouted, grabbing Elisif by the shoulders and shaking her. “You disintegrate before our eyes, we don't know where you are or what happened, most of us assumed you were dead, you've been gone a whole fucking YEAR, the world has literally fallen apart, my children are _dead_...” Eola had to stop to catch her breath, letting Elisif go and taking a few moments to recover, while Elisif tried to process all this, mind valiantly trying then giving up, and then Cicero chimed in.

“Children?” he whispered, hope lighting up his face. “Are the children here too? Cicero misses their sweet little faces!”

Eola hid her face in her hands, drew a deep breath and slowly composed herself.

“I don't think so, sweetie,” she called back. “But they might be on their way!”

Cicero let out a little whoop of delight and sat back in his cell, sighing happily to himself.

“What, I'm not upsetting him,” Eola murmured. “He's got the attention span of a gnat anyway, he'll have forgotten in an hour or so.”

“What happened?” Elisif whispered, dreading the detailed answer. “I don't know what happened, that spell of Alexius's cast us out of time and we only just got back into it. Eola, I didn't know, I – I'm so sorry...”

Eola closed her eyes, shaking her head.

“Not your fault,” Eola said softly. “It's OK. But… it's bad, Elisif. The Elder One's strong, he's unstoppable, he raised an army, we didn't know what was coming and – and it's too late. Too late for us, too late for Cicero, too late for...” Eola took another breath, clearly not wanting to say her children's names for fear of losing it completely. “They found the kids. I don't know how. But they had them. They brought them right up to the castle gates, demanded a surrender and when Da and Cassandra refused, they… they killed them. Right there in front of us, and that's when Cicero turned into a werewolf and leapt off the battlements to avenge them. He's lucky he didn't die, as it is, he… it turns out beast blood can drive out the Blight from an infected person, but it doesn't make us immune, especially when that red lyrium's involved. It… he… we keep him down here for his own safety, and everyone else's. Cassandra's really not keen on a Blighted, crazy werewolf running around up top. She'd have put him down herself, but I couldn't… I couldn't let her.”

Of course she couldn't, Elisif wasn't sure she could have watched them kill Madanach either, and if Madanach was in any position of authority, he'd have sided with Eola on this. No wonder all the darkspawn research. Eola was probably hunting for a cure.

“Did you get anywhere on finding a cure?” Elisif had to ask. Eola just shrugged.

“Sorta. Maybe. I potentially found a way of curing someone infected with standard Blight but it requires materials I just don't have. Nothing on stopping red lyrium once it's got hold of you. I – I don't know what to do, Elisif, other than just try and keep him happy, but it's exhausting and he keeps wanting to talk about the children and...”

Elisif took Eola in her arms and held her, unsure what to do, but feeling empathy enough for a woman who'd lost her children, and her husband too.

“It's going to be all right,” Elisif whispered and Eola shook her head.

“How can you possibly make this all right?” Eola whispered. “Can you bring my kids back?”

“You ARE bringing the children!” Cicero squealed from his cage. “Cicero knew it! When are they coming??”

Eola shivered in Elisif's arms and Elisif decided she needed to take charge.

“Later on today, Cicero,” Elisif told him. “Don't worry, I'll fix it.”

Cicero beamed at her, and that smile coming from a face contorted with red lyrium chunks and still with werewolf teeth was the stuff of nightmares, but it was still likely better than Cicero angry.

“Dorian thinks he can send me and him back,” Elisif whispered, hoping Cicero didn't hear all of this. “We can stop all of this happening. I can't bring your kids back but I might be able to save them.”

Eola gasped and looked up, eyes turning to Dorian as something like hope finally came back to them.

“You can do that?” she whispered. “Really??”

“Yes,” Dorian told her, intentionally making his voice gentler on her behalf. “All I need is some time and that amulet Alexius used to cast the spell with. Do you still have it?”

To Elisif's relief, Eola nodded, brimming with enthusiasm. 

“Yes, Da has it. He's been trying to figure the magic out, we both have, but Alexius's notes aren't very detailed and half of it's in Tevene.”

“Dorian?” Elisif asked, wondering if he'd be able to read them. Dorian just laughed.

“Don't worry about that, I probably came up with most of that theory anyway, and we can all read Tevene – it's a much better language for handling complex magical theory, it's why half our texts are in it. Shall we go? We shouldn't waste any more time, it'll take me some time to work the counter out.”

“Yes, but...” Elisif turned back to Cicero, still beaming hopefully out from behind bars. “Are you leaving him here?”

Eola closed her eyes and readied herself as if for something unpleasant, before turning back to her workdesk, grabbing all the paperwork and gathering it all together into one file, presenting it to Elisif.

“Here, take all this, give to me when you next see me,” Eola said. “There's things in there that can help. Maybe… maybe not everything, but something, and if I look at it with a fresh pair of eyes, maybe I'll see something I missed, right? And maybe the Inquisition can get more materials for the experiments if the world's not gone to shit, right?”

“That would depend on the experiment,” Elisif said, eyeing the hurlock and knowing it'd be a tough one to get that approved by the inner council. Maybe if she found somewhere nowhere near Haven, Leliana at least might back it. She was the one who'd fought the Blight after all.

“Don't worry, I'll be sure to write you a detailed research proposal,” Eola purred. Then her face fell as she turned her attention back to the husband watching hopefully from his cell. Forcing a smile, Eola made her way over, palming an ebony dagger from the table that Elisif was sure had once been Cicero's.

“Hey. Cicero,” Eola whispered. “Cicero, it's the children.”

“Children?” Cicero whispered, clinging to the bars hopefully. “Children?! Where – where are they?”

“They want to surprise you, love,” Eola whispered. “Close your eyes, open them when I tell you.”

“OK!” Cicero said brightly, closing his eyes. “Children? Where are you? Papa's missed you! Come to Papa!”

Eola was stroking Cicero's remaining hair, tears glittering on her cheeks as she kissed the still-human part of his. 

“I love you, Cicero,” she whispered. “I love you so much, I'm giving you the kids back. They're waiting for you.”

Cicero cried out as the dagger slipped up and under the ribs in a precise assassin's stroke Eola had learnt off him in the first place. Then another cut across his throat and Cicero collapsed lifeless to the floor, Blighted blood pooling out beneath him. Eola stepped away briskly, cleaned the dagger and made her way to the door, not even looking back. Elisif could only stare at the remains of a man she'd once called friend, unsure if she'd just witnessed what she thought she had.

“Eola?” Elisif gasped. “What did you just do??”

“It's no longer him,” Eola said, her voice flat and dull. “This world is going to never exist. We're all going to disappear and this will end how it ends. And I should have let him go months ago.” She turned to Elisif, her one good eye staring into Elisif's. “Save us all, and stop him getting into that state in the first place. That's what you do, right? Save people?”

Elisif couldn't rightly deny it and yet she really couldn't understand a woman who could kill her husband and walk away so easily.

“You killed him,” Elisif whispered. “You killed Cicero.”

“No,” Eola said quietly. “I kept him alive past his time. He's with the kids now. You're going to stop it happening. Come on, let's go. Need to get our Tevinter friend here his amulet.”

There was no arguing with that. But Elisif did linger, kneeling by Cicero's remains and closing his eyelids. Maybe Cicero was a little troublemaker, but he'd helped her, betrayed his own order for her, always been pleased to see her and Maia liked him too. Seeing him die hurt, even if the killing was a mercy. Poor Cicero.

“Goodbye, my friend,” Elisif said quietly. “I don't think we'll see you in Sovngarde any time soon but I hope you're at peace now.”

Getting up, she turned and followed Eola out. Time to find what else had fallen apart in her absence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Spread out! They're here somewhere. We must not let them get away!”

Elisif knew that voice, would know it anywhere. Cassandra Pentaghast, alive and well and here and as domineering as ever. And it was coming from the chamber up above, Cassandra's words echoing out even as the clang of the drawbridge faded away.

“They're not escaped prisoners, Seeker. We're not here to arrest them. That's if Grumpy's information is reliable.”

Varric, Varric was here, and Elisif's relief that they'd both survived, she'd not led her friends to their deaths, was nearly overwhelming. But who were they looking for and who was… well, the answer to that was obvious. Madanach must have felt his marriage bond flare into life and sent a party to investigate immediately.

Cassandra's grunt told Elisif all she needed to know about Cassandra's opinion… but it seemed the others didn't share it.

“I've not seen him that animated about anything in a long time, Cassandra,” Leliana said, Orlesian drawl minimising the optimism in her voice… but it was there. Leliana believed there was something to it. “We need to find Eola, see if she's seen anything. She knows Elisif of old, she'd know what to look for.”

And then a male voice, light and high, not quite a grown man's but not a child's either, echoed around the chamber.

“Back, she's back, she's still alive after all this time, back from the dead but what can you expect? Blood of dragons and dragons don't die, the High Queen's here but that means it's over. Turn back time and we all fall down, and it starts with sweet Cicero, and the laughter dies. Haven't told her what else died yet, not my place, I can't do it, my father needs to… His laughter died months ago.”

Silence and then Varric spoke, his voice quiet.

“All right, kid. We know.”

“If it is her, someone has to tell her,” Leliana said, voice growing sombre. “We can't keep something like that a secret.”

“I will do it,” Cassandra said, not even hesitating. “She will need to know and… she is my friend. I will not flinch from doing what is right, even if she will not thank me.”

General relief all round and Elisif turned to Eola, hanging back guiltily.

“Tell me what?” Elisif hissed. “What's going on??”

“Bad things,” Eola said grimly. “Elisif, the world's fucked. But the nice Seeker has volunteered to tell you the really horrible stuff, so why not go and talk to her, hmm?”

Elisif backed away, seeing guilt on Eola's face but sympathy in her eyes, and the strange boy's words, as if he'd been speaking Eola's thoughts – not Eola's place to say but Madanach's, Madanach's laughter dead like Cicero, something else dying…

Elisif didn't know but she could feel her throat closing up as she turned and took the steps two at a time.

Out into the chamber and Cassandra and Leliana were leading the way, Varric behind them, and next to him a slim blonde boy in a wide-brimmed hat. Elisif didn't recognise him although she wondered if he was the boy Cicero mentioned, who visited him. Did he know Cicero had died? Although it sounded like… like he'd read Eola's mind. Was he a mage? Could mages do that??

“Tell me what??” Elisif demanded as she emerged into view, heedless of the gasps and the shock on their faces… and the sadness on that of the strange boy. “Cassandra? What happened?”

“Elisif,” Cassandra gasped, stunned. “Andraste save us. Madanach was right?!”

“It does sometimes happen,” Varric said, wry grin flickering on his face. “Blue-eyes. I knew we should never count you out.”

“Herald,” Leliana said softly, inclining her head. “Welcome back. Alas, I fear it may be too late for even you to save us now.”

“So many dead,” the boy whispered. “Broken bodies, safe Haven no more, no more world left to save.”

“Kid,” Varric said, voice that bit more forceful than usual. “That's enough.”

It was enough for Elisif. Safe Haven no more…

“Cassandra, what _happened?_ ” Elisif cried, feeling her heart constrict. “Eola tells me I've been gone a whole year, Dorian says that spell of Alexius's flung me into the future. And now I find out things have gone horribly wrong, Eola's kids are dead, Cicero got infected with the Blight and now he's dead too, and… and you're all debating how to break some news to me, but Madanach's still alive. Cassandra? Cassandra???”

Leliana had already gasped and gone to Eola, taking the other woman into her arms and holding her in a hug that wasn't entirely platonic to Elisif's eyes, and Elisif hadn't forgotten Eola cheerfully admitting her bisexuality along with Cicero's all those years ago. Maybe Eola had sought consolation… and maybe Cicero had known and been fine with it. But Elisif had other things to think about. Mainly the heartbreaking sadness and guilt in Cassandra's eyes, and that awful sympathy in Varric's.

“Elisif,” Cassandra was saying. “Elisif, I am so sorry. We… the Elder One. He is too strong. We could not fight him. He – he came in force. Redcliffe held, Madanach had already fortified it after you died, or so we thought. We were under siege from Ferelden's forces but when the Elder One invaded, they withdrew to fight him. But divided, we fell. Ferelden fell, and while Madanach held Redcliffe… Elisif, he attacked Haven first. We couldn't help them, couldn't send anyone because we were besieged ourselves. Haven is no fortress. This boy, Cole, he brought the news. He was the only one to survive.”

Haven. Gone. No survivors, no chance for Madanach to send anyone or for anyone to come to Redcliffe because the damn idiot had refused to negotiate with Anora's troops.

“But Maia was in Haven,” Elisif whispered, something inside starting to scream as she searched vainly for some threads of hope, some sign her baby had escaped despite the odds, that someone had taken Maia and fled, that Liriel had had the sense to run, that Blackwall or Borkul had helped her flee. But Cassandra's lips had thinned as Cassandra shook her head.

“No one survived,” Cassandra said voice only shaking a little. “Elisif, I'm sorry. We sent scouts in the aftermath, before travel became completely impossible, we found the bodies… including a small one with a frog toy...”

Elisif couldn't breathe. The room swayed around her and went blurry, and then she was collapsed on the ground, Jagged Crown sliding off her head as she curled into a ball, strange unearthly howl coming from her throat, but Elisif was barely aware of it. Maia, gone. Maia, dead. Her little baby, murdered by this Elder One's troops, butchered by troops evil enough to cut down a screaming five year old, oh Maia, she must have been so scared…

Cassandra desperately saying her name, and Dorian saying something as well, but it was that boy Cole's voice that cut through Elisif's grief.

“Fire, smoke, bad men, bad Templars, Templar monsters, they're everywhere, cursed, chaos, killing. Ran to the Chantry but it's not safe and they're breaking in the doors. Fire, bodies, Borkul's dead, Blackwall's dead, Solas, Mother Giselle, Minaeve, Liriel tried to fight but they hurt her too, I'm scared, I'm scared, I want Mama, I want Daddy, but they must be dead too, Mama would come back if she could, Mama would stop them, but she must be dead, she must be in Sovngarde, do little girls go to Sovngarde? Mama says all Nords who die bravely go to Sovngarde. I'm a Nord. I want Mama. I'm scared. Come on, Frogella. If we die bravely, we see Mama. I've got magic. I'm Maia Dragon-Rider. I'm only a little dragon but I can breathe fire anyway. I love you, Mama! Yol Toor Shul!”

Elisif curled in further, convulsing helplessly as she saw her daughter's last moments all too clearly, a scared but angry little girl who just wanted to see her mother again, and who'd heard too many tales of Sovngarde. _Oh my baby, my baby, no, you are not a warrior!_

Elisif was sobbing, unable to stop, and then Cole was holding her head, and something, some wave of deep compassion coming from who knew where, was filling her, filling her with love that felt like it came from Mara herself.

“She died bravely,” Cole was whispering. “She died loving you. She died thinking she was going to see you again, even though she was terrified and in pain. It was quick. If she hadn't breathed fire and used her magic… it might not have been. It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could do. And she loved you so much. You were the best mama in the world to her.”

Elisif sobbed, and even feeling this absolution didn't stop the pain, it only purified it. Knowing she'd not failed her daughter, that Maia had died loving her fiercely, didn't change the fact that the baby she'd carried, the baby she'd sang to and spoken to even before she'd been born, the helpless little child she'd held in her arms and marvelled at to realise humans could be that small and tiny, the little companion that had barely left her side for five years, was gone. Murdered. By Templars in service to this Elder One.

_They killed my baby. My little pixie-girl. She never hurt anyone!_

Slowly, Elisif sat up, gasping and wiping tears away, coming back to herself, feeling like she was going to cry again, but not now. Not right now. Later, yes, but right now she needed to plan. She needed revenge.

She became aware of Madanach in her mind, silent, penitent, wracked with guilt, his own grief no less palpable if a little less raw. He knew. He must have known. His own laughter dead months ago – gods, of course it had been. Elisif didn't know firsthand what he and Maia had been to each other while they'd been here, but he'd adored and doted on his littlest one as a baby, been a very involved father. And Maia had been hysterical over Daddy being in danger, insistent Mama go and rescue him right now! That was not the response of a child who'd been afraid of her father. Maia had loved Madanach, Elisif was sure, and Madanach had clearly adored his baby girl.

And now she was gone. And Elisif had to try and do something about this wreck of a world that the Elder One had destroyed, had to try and fix a world that no longer had her baby in it, fix what could never be right again as far as she was concerned. Never be right again…

“Dorian,” she whispered, looking up to see him kneeling next to her, eyes full of sympathy. “You can fix this. I mean, you can send us back. To before she died.”

“Yes,” Dorian said softly. “I can get us back. I promise. Or die trying.”

“Victory or Sovngarde,” Elisif said firmly, trying not to think of her daughter facing up to the Elder One's Templars alone. And if she ended up in Sovngarde, she'd see her baby again, right?

Dorian shook his head, smiling sadly at her. 

“Your daughter really does take after you, doesn't she.”

Elisif nodded, not correcting Dorian on the tense, because she was going home, home to a world that still had her baby in it, home to a world still worth saving.

She was going to find her husband, find that amulet, and then, when Dorian's magic was done, she was going home and executing Alexius personally.

As plans went, it was an ambitious one. But Elisif's baby was gone. If this was what it took to get her precious pixie back, Elisif would do it. That she promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you it was harrowing! I genuinely teared up writing the Maia bits. And poor Cicero. Poor poor Cicero. Next up, Elisif sees Madanach again.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elisif meets her husband again, but she never imagined it would be like this. Not with a shared grief and a shared attraction complicating everything, and a shattered world falling apart around them. While Dorian's finding a way to get them home and stop all this happening, it turns out the final tragedy is one unwittingly brought on them by Elisif herself...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still here? Thought last chapter was bad? It gets no better in this one, as Elisif is reunited with her husband and finds out what else has been going on... and then the boss battle ensues - you'll see what I mean.
> 
> Also this is where I really introduce the key ship - it's a tiny bit controversial, in that I've had Alistair discover his bisexual tendencies. Yeah, I know he's not romanceable by men in DAO. And I don't care. Maybe all your male Wardens just weren't his type. I've personally got him down as not being fully aware of what he's feeling due to the Chantry not encouraging anything in the way of sexual exploration, of having a massive hero-worship crush on Duncan, getting his heart broken at Ostagar, and therefore being romanceable by a female Warden, but not even able to think about getting involved with a man.
> 
> Which is a long-winded way of saying I'm setting up Elisif/Madanach/Alistair, and at least one reader's already commented favourably on it so flames will be ignored. We've got basically two Dragonborns, and two recovering addict w00bies with pasts, and I'm taking it and running with it.
> 
> Not to mention various miscellaneous clues and hints as to future developments. This chapter's riven with them. Have fun with them!
> 
> Notes on the Dovah: Ah-Laas-Dah - Hunter-life-push. The Ysmir of the South has a Dovah name, bless him!
> 
> Skahaan - tainted, tainted one, one infected with the Blight.
> 
> More trigger warnings for death and suicide mentions. And all the onscreen deaths in the boss fight at the end.

The small group made their way to the upper reaches of the castle, and when they reached the courtyard, Elisif couldn't stop herself screaming. The sky was green. The sky… wasn't there any more. 

“The Breach took it over,” Cassandra said grimly. “It kept growing, and the rifts merged into one. There's nothing but demons out there now. We'd be low on supplies but what with the deaths, abominations, suicides, abominations that are actually suicides, we're surviving. But it's only a matter of time.”

Then the rift burst open and demons began swarming towards them. Varric cursed and lifted Bianca, Leliana's bow was raised as well and Eola's magic was already flaring.

Dorian's magic lowered a barrier over her and Cassandra, and Elisif looked at her friend and saw the familiar determination there.

“Shall we?” Elisif said, itching to forget about Maia lying butchered in the ruins of Haven Chantry for a just few sweet minutes as she focused on slaughtering her foes. Cassandra just smiled and nodded. 

“FOR THE MAKER!” Cassandra shouted as she sprang into battle and Elisif ran screaming alongside her, words not really mattering, not human words anyway, in fact all that came to mind were her poor, brave baby's last words, a little dragon fighting on even when all was lost. 

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” Elisif howled, and the despair demon she'd aimed that at disintegrated, rags collapsing to the floor. There was some symbolism in that, Elisif was sure, but right now they all had more important things to think about. Such as dealing with the rift.

With seven of them, the demons were easily dealt with and Elisif sealed the rift, knowing deep in her heart that it wasn't enough, not remotely. But there was another one further ahead, and then that was sealed too, and then it was into the main keep.

“The Great Hall is this way,” Leliana told her, leading them ahead to where the sound of fighting could be heard.

“Andraste have mercy, don't tell me it's re-opened again,” Varric sighed, which could only refer to a rift… but with Maia gone, who on earth could seal those??

Elisif chased after Cassandra, Dorian and Eola flanking her… and at her back that strange boy Cole, who carried sharp knives – no, those were the Blade of Woe and Mehrunes' Razor, weapons passed on once Cicero could no longer wield them, and Cole had fought like Cicero, not being there until he was and his opponent was bleeding out. A fellow assassin maybe?

“Our one weapon in this fight but he's not Elisif, never will be, he has the power but he's not a leader, didn't want to be king, saw what it did to his father, he never wanted to be a hero. Wants to serve the king not be the king, and the king needs him or he'll lose it all. He can't watch another man fall apart.”

“Who are you talking about?” Elisif said, letting Cassandra run into the fray ahead of her while she spoke to Cole. Because Cole was not normal, and while Cicero had been more than a little Void-touched, his particular brand of odd was at least somewhat predictable once you got to know him. Cole was something else. Talking in cryptic poetry, and as if he was reading people's minds. And when she'd been on the floor sobbing over Maia, he'd… done something. Healed her somehow. Well. Not healed, she'd never heal from something like this. But he'd helped stop her bleeding out on the floor.

Cole didn't answer. He just pointed across the Great Hall to a blonde warrior, all decked out in heavy armour, shield raised as he faced up to a rage demon.

A rage demon which then promptly froze solid as frost magic descended and a voice she never thought she'd hear again called out over the room.

“Now, bion! Hit it where it hurts!”

Madanach at his commanding best, axe in one hand, frost in the other, grinning in triumph as the blonde warrior spun round, smacked the shield into the demon and laughed as it shattered into pieces.

“Bren'ma! Did you see that?” he laughed, sounding very young and eager.

“I saw, bion,” Madanach answered, looking for all the world like a proud parent. “Watch out, shade!”

The warrior turned and had his sword up just in time as a shade descended on him – but he didn't need to worry much. Madanach had sent an Ice Spear flying at the demon… and not far away, Grand Enchanter Fiona was there too, mage robes swapped for silver and blue light mail with a griffon crest, staff raised as lightning shot down and paralysed the shade.

The warrior wasted no time in finishing it off, and once he was done, he saluted Fiona with a smile.

“Thanks, Mum!” he called, and Fiona smiled and nodded, before seeing that the last of the demons was gone and pointing at the rift.

“Right,” the man gasped. “Let me get my breath back and I'll get right on it. Not like I've not had to close this thing _four times_ in as many days!”

Close it?? But not permanently. But how? Elisif didn't know, but she knew one thing. She could do it better.

Mark flaring, she raised her hand and the familiar green light shot out, pouring into the rift.

Elisif shut her eyes and grimaced, really not liking the way her hand felt like it was being ripped apart, but if it helped fix the world… The rift exploded and faded out of existence in a burst of green light, and as Elisif stepped back, shaking her head, she was aware of silence descending, as an entire room stared at her. An entire room gasping, and then she felt her marriage bond tense up again as Madanach realised she was there.

Elisif looked up and felt tears come to her eyes as she saw him, there in his favourite black Vale-cat Forsworn gear, putting his axe away as he strode towards her, blonde hair reflecting the light – blonde??

Blonde, same colour as Eola's albeit with a few grey streaks, and his face far smoother than she'd last seen it, and his body strength restored and…

Elisif realised tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she could feel him too, a sense of overwhelming want, need, grief, joy… anger?

He didn't say anything. He just walked straight up to her and pulled her into his arms, shaking all over as he held her tight, and Elisif closed her eyes, holding on to him in turn and just letting her marriage bond communicate everything she couldn't say out loud.

_I'm sorry._

_I missed you._

_I can't believe you're here!_

_You're all right! And you came all this way and…_

Just sheer emotion in response as Madanach clung on to her, and she realised not all the tears were hers. Carefully, she let him go, removed the Jagged Crown, handed it to a proud Varric, barely aware of a tearful Cassandra looking on as she turned back to her husband and kissed him, with all a Dragonborn who'd not seen him healthy in years was capable of.

Madanach kissed her back, hands sliding into her hair as he pulled her close, and Elisif mentally cursed her armour and gods damnit, she could do without everyone watching. But she had her husband back. She had Madanach back! He was alive and healthy and back in her arms…

And Maia was gone and the world didn't have a sky any more. Elisif pushed him away, grief welling up inside her again at the thought of Maia's last moments.

“You brought our baby here!” Elisif cried, not even bothering to wipe the tears away. “You brought Maia here and now she's… now she's… why?? Why did you bring her, why?? Why...”

Madanach had shrunk back, hands held to his chest, panic in his eyes, and she could feel it too, and it had a way of taking the fight out of her.

“I'm sorry,” Madanach whispered. “I couldn't get there in time, Anora had us pinned down here, and we couldn't get any scouts back to Haven, she didn't leave until after the attack had already happened, Elisif, I'm sorry...” And then his own anger flared again as he recalled he wouldn't have had to deal with it all on his own if perhaps his wife had still been there.

“You were gone, Elisif!” Madanach cried. “You weren't… we thought you'd died! We all saw that spell hit you and then you were gone! I thought you were…! We all thought...” 

He turned away, rubbing his forehead and Elisif felt immediately contrite as she felt the grief coming from him as well. Gods damn the Reachmen, having the bright idea to give married couples empathy bonds so they could tell what the other was really feeling and not sit there deluding themselves as to who was in the right. Truth was, neither of them were. Madanach had been reckless in bringing Maia. Elisif had abandoned them both.

Elisif stepped forward and placed a hand on his back, looking away.

“I'm sorry,” Elisif whispered. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to – I thought Haven would be safe! I thought…”

“You were gone,” Madanach said, sounding like he was about to cry himself. “You left me here, all alone, dealing with a castle that wasn't mine and a hostile Fereldan army on the doorstep and everyone expecting me to sort it out, and I've had Grand Enchanter Fiona and Cassandra Pentaghast between them taking it in turns to get on my back about literally everything and...”

“You poor darling,” Elisif said, imagining that all too clearly and trying not to laugh as she turned him round and took him into her arms. “Madanach, it's going to be all right. I promise. I will make it all better for you.”

Madanach didn't resist, holding on to her and resting his head on her shoulder.

“Our daughter is gone,” Madanach gasped. “Maia… she's… how can you fix that, Elisif??”

Elisif kissed him on the cheek and stepped back.

“Have you got that amulet Alexius had?” Elisif asked, keeping her voice gentle and kind. “I guess it's too much to hope he survived more than about five minutes after we disappeared.”

Madanach sheepishly allowed that he might have got a bit carried away and slaughtered Alexius in his grief, and Elisif bit her lip because a man getting destroyed by her husband was not a laughing matter, but she couldn't help it. It was just so Madanach, and she'd missed her crazy husband so damn much.

“But did you get his amulet?” Elisif asked, and to her relief, Madanach nodded, taking it out of his pocket and handing it over.

“Sure, been trying to figure the thing out ever since,” Madanach said. “It's still got the spell inside it, but damned if I could see how it worked. Eola, Fiona, we were all stumped. I didn't even know you could get time and space to _do_ that!”

Elisif took the amulet and held it out to Dorian. 

“Dorian, think you can do something with this?”

Dorian took it off her, and his eyes lit up.

“Yes. Well, probably. I'm going to need a private room and a few hours but I can recreate the ritual, although I might need a few supplies…”

“Recreate – what?” Madanach said, frowning. “Elisif, what's he planning?”

“Dorian thinks he can reverse the spell, send him and me back to when Alexius banished us, or just after,” Elisif explained. “We can go back in time, make it so none of this ever happens, sweet-talk Anora, get back to Haven, fortify it or move, make sure Maia's all right...” Elisif heard Cole's monologue about Maia again and closed her eyes, feeling fresh grief all over again. Madanach placed a hand on her shoulder and turned to Dorian.

“Dorian Pavus. About time you showed up. You have some nerve, disappearing, getting lost in the time vortex, fucking off for an _entire year,_ with my wife no less! Well? Think you can fix this?”

Dorian glanced up from the necklace, smirked at Madanach before turning to Elisif.

“Elisif darling, I think your husband missed me.”

“He is the type to hide worry with anger, it's true,” Elisif said, watching Madanach's expression with no little amusement. Madanach folded his arms, clearly wondering why he'd missed them.

“Can you fix the damn timeline or not?” Madanach snapped. Dorian glanced at the amulet again before nodding.

“Yes. I think so. Just give me a bit of time and space and whatever magical resources are at your disposal – oof!”

Madanach had stepped forward and pulled Dorian into a bear hug, patting the astonished Tevinter on the back, before letting him go and pointing him in Fiona's direction.

“Well, Grand Enchanter, think you can set Dorian up with whatever he needs?”

“I think that can be arranged,” Fiona said, holding out a hand and leading Dorian away. “Come on, young man, you and I have some work to do. Lysas! Lysas. Where is that man, there you are, Lysas, we'll be in the throne room, I'll need you to get...”

Lysas, changed from Circle robes into a passable imitation of Forsworn armour, scurried after Fiona, leaving a room full of people all now looking a bit nonplussed. Cassandra Pentaghast in particular had had a job keeping up.

“Am I right?” Cassandra demanded. “Your solution to all this is to travel back in time, stop Corypheus rising in the first place and then we never get to this stage? That will kill us all!”

“It'll erase this entire timeline from existence, Seeker,” Varric said, patting Bianca. “I don't know about you, but I'm all right with that.”

“We've got three week's worth of supplies, maybe a little more if there's another suicide,” Leliana said grimly from where she was sitting with Eola. “After that, we'll likely turn on each other and do Corypheus's work for him. Look at the world, it's ruined. There's nothing left to save. If we can stop this ever happening, send Elisif and Dorian back to prevent it… we don't have a choice, Cassandra. We owe it to everyone who already died to give them another chance.”

“Cicero died,” Eola said softly, eyes staring at hands that still had blood under the fingernails. “I've nothing left to lose. I don't mind dying if it means a world with Cicero and the kids still in it.”

Elisif felt her pain all too clearly, and Madanach went straight over to her and took his remaining child into his arms.

“I won't ask how,” he said softly. “But I'm sorry.”

“Thank you,” Eola said, cuddling her father, and Elisif turned away, knowing she couldn't help her. She could only help by making sure this never happened.

The movement brought her face to face with the warrior she'd seen earlier, the blonde-haired man in the Redcliffe armour who'd killed demons like he'd been doing it all his life. Up close he didn't look quite so young either, in fact he might well be around her age.

He was however dangerously cute, with a very kissable smile and a boyish innocence about him that Madanach had never had in her lifetime, in fact he reminded her of Torygg a little. Not in looks, but there was something about him that just stirred memories. Except she wasn't reacting to him like she once had to Torygg, oh no. It turned out the dragon within was having quite the opposite urge.

_Take him, claim him, bend him over and have him, conquering him would be delightful!_

Wait, what? She was a married woman!

_So let Madanach watch, he'd probably enjoy it._

No. Absolutely not, not happening, and hadn't he called Fiona mum or something like that? Oh gods, was this… yes, the eyes and something in the facial structure, and the skin tone was identical and… oh balls. Grand Enchanter Fiona's human son.

“So you're Elisif,” he was saying, looking fascinated… although there was something a little bittersweet in his expression. “You're the Dragonborn Herald. Madanach's… wife.”

“That's right,” Elisif managed to say, wrestling her libido into submission with an effort and forcing a smile to her face. “I don't think we've met, are you really Fiona's son?”

“Apparently!” the man said, pleased by that at least. “I didn't believe her at first, but Bre – Madanach did a kinfinder spell and proved we were closely related, and it turned out she was best friends with my old mentor Duncan while she was in the Wardens and...” He caught his breath and shook himself. “So, yes, Grand Enchanter Fiona's my mum and despite this year having gone straight to the Void for just about everyone, I must be one of the few people who's actually happy. Found out I've got a mum, got to see one of my best mates again, and I found Madanach, who's just...” He stopped, taking a deep breath, and then shutters seemed to go up in his eyes as he bowed to her. “Anyway. Yes. Alistair Fionasson Theirin, at your service. I've been trying to do your job for the last year, and really failing quite badly on all levels. On the other hand, I managed to stop Madanach killing himself, so I haven't screwed up completely.”

“What?” Elisif gasped, horrified as she turned to look at where Madanach was still comforting Eola. No one had mentioned anything like a suicide attempt, not by him!

“He hasn't tried,” Alistair said hastily. “Not that I know of, and I'd know. He's… look, losing you, then Maia, then everything going wrong and not being able to fix it… he's not well. He's depressed. He's short-tempered, moody, snaps at people, and when he's alone he has a tendency to sit there drinking with tears in his eyes – not that he actually likes being alone. And he talks about it to me. How he's messed everything up, let everyone down, failed us all and we'd be better off without him. And if they'd let him visit Sovngarde to see his wife and kid, just for a bit. Cole helped, Eola too, but he needed someone to be with. So that's what I've done. Been there. Kept him alive. Because we do need him, we wouldn't have lasted without him, and he makes the Calling go away. I know it's not a real Calling, but I can't fight it, it's too powerful, but Madanach's illusions can stop it. He saved me and I save him. Only I suppose that's your job now.”

Flat disappointment in his voice at that last sentence, and Elisif had the sudden feeling he really resented her for some reason. Why on earth… wait. Madanach had needed someone to be with. Madanach who Elisif knew wasn't straight. Madanach who employed an awful lot of handsome young men in the Markarth palace guard and among his own personal guard, and while he'd never been unfaithful, he'd frequently seen her admiring some young man or other and teasingly offered to have him sent back to their room if she liked. She'd always told him to behave and he'd desist, but the attraction had been there. With her gone, Madanach would have been lonely and vulnerable and the prospect of a handsome young man around offering comfort would have been irresistible.

_But he still loves me!_

_Yes he does, but he's married, not dead, and you'd abandoned him. Looks like he might enjoy watching after all…_

Elisif stepped back, trying and failing to get images out of her brain of her and Madanach descending on Alistair together. It was absolutely wrong, the Eight would not approve, the teachings of Mara were very clear that destabilising one's family to satisfy one's own selfish sexual desires was an offence to the goddess… but Elisif also recalled Dibella being all for the consensual and mutually enjoyable expression of desire, and that that didn't need to be restricted to a monogamously married couple.

No. Absolutely not. She had more important things to think about. A world to save, a world to get back to and not let end up like this. Her own gratification could wait.

“Anyone who helps keep my husband alive and happy is a friend as far as I'm concerned,” Elisif told him, smiling brightly and hoping he reacted well, because that suspicious scowl on a face like that was a crime in Elisif's eyes.

“Friend… yes,” Alistair laughed nervously and stared at his feet, not meeting her eyes, and then she was aware of Madanach at her back, arm around her shoulders, and he was also feeling guilty-nervous.

“I see you met Alistair,” Madanach said hesitantly. “He's, er, he's been helping me out with… with the rifts… and things – Elisif, did you know they have Dragonborns over here??”

“Dragon – what?” Elisif whispered, recalling Alistair had spoken of sealing rifts. “Wait, Alistair's Dragonborn??”

Which would explain a lot, particularly why she was reacting to him like she was, but Dragonborn? Here? Really??

“He really is,” Madanach said proudly. “He told me his father was descended from a Fereldan warlord who became the first king, and did some ritual with dragon blood, or so they said. And it turns out his father's blood was used in some Tevinter blood magic ritual by the Venatori a couple of years back – Varric was there too, he'll tell you the whole thing, in fact you'd better talk to him, Alistair found the whole thing a bit traumatic.”

“They tortured my father for _eight years_ and I had to mercy kill him,” Alistair said, sounding a bit too cheerful considering the evident pain in his eyes. “I mean, it's not like I ever knew my father growing up, it was the first time I'd met him in person. But the bastards were using his blood for its special powers so I had to… anyway, if his blood carried power, must mean mine could too, right? So Madanach tried teaching me the Thu'um.”

“Madanach tried – Madanach, you don't even know the Thu'um!” Elisif sighed. Madanach shuffled uncomfortably. 

“Heard you use it often enough!” Madanach pointed out. “I asked questions. Got Cicero to help before… well. Tried to recall everything you told me, everything Maia told me. And it worked! He knows the Shout to close a rift, and how to breathe fire and the Fus Ro Dah one. I… didn't really remember any others. But he's learning them fast! Memorises them like that, then it only takes a few weeks meditation and practice before he's Shouting like… well, like you.”

Elisif honestly didn't know what to make of that. Other than her own daughter, who gave her no trouble and practically worshipped her, the only other Dragonborn Elisif had ever met was Miraak. Who'd tried to kill her daughter and then her, then tried to dominate her and only with difficulty been persuaded to reincarnate and be reborn as Cicero's child. Neither twin had shown any signs of knowing the Thu'um yet, although she'd heard they were both quite bright.

The prospect of an adult male Dragonborn vying for dominance with her was not something that appealed at all… and yet she wasn't getting that off him. He was resentful, but not fighting.

“And you've been using that power to control rifts,” Elisif said, impressed. Alistair nodded, shrugging indifferently.

“It doesn't last very long, but a few days where we're not fighting off demons is better than nothing,” Alistair said modestly.

“Ah, don't be so modest, bion,” Madanach said, voice full of pride for him as he patted Alistair on the back. “You've done brilliantly.”

“Haven't saved the world yet, have I?” Alistair pointed out bitterly, and Elisif felt her heart go out to him. Stepping forward, she placed both hands on his shoulders.

“That wasn't your job, it was mine,” Elisif told him. “I wasn't there and I should have been and the world's fallen apart. So I need to get back there and do a proper job, and I'm going to find you and teach you the Thu'um, I promise. Maia will help too, and you can help me make sure no one hurts her.”

“I – right, of course,” Alistair said, surprised. “I mean, you'll really teach me how to Shout? The other me, I mean?”

“Yes,” Elisif promised, keeping a smile on her face despite a voice of caution telling her this was a really bad idea and extended amounts of time in close quarters with a man this attractive, another Dragonborn no less, could only lead to trouble. But he'd brightened up. He'd started smiling. He was pleased and excited and happy and… Elisif was doomed.

“Really??” Alistair gasped. “What, seriously? Even though I've been sleeping with your husband – ah. I mean, er. I… probably should have let him tell you that, oh Maker, er, I – think I need to go and see if Mum needs any help, bye!”

Alistair could move extremely quickly for a man in heavy armour and was sprinting for the throne room before Elisif could stop him. So she turned to Madanach instead, folding her arms and expecting answers.

“How long exactly did it take for you to stop mourning me and start inviting Alistair into your bed?” Elisif asked, raising an eyebrow. Perhaps she understood why. Perhaps Madanach had been technically free to do what he liked. It didn't mean he was getting an easy ride on it.

“I didn't stop mourning you!” Madanach cried. “Sithis, Elisif, technically I've not even bedded him! We just… sleep next to each other. It… helps having someone else there. I didn't have you and no one else was offering. If you must know, it was after we heard about Maia. I was in pieces and he refused to leave me and I couldn't send him away. Elisif, I thought you were dead.”

Elisif couldn't rightly deny that, the guilt hitting her like a physical blow as she recalled she'd just left them. Maia gone, Madanach finding comfort in the arms of an attractive Dragonborn of the South… she deserved it. So she moved towards him and put her arms round him, wishing the lump in her throat would go away.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry. I will fix this, I swear. I will go back and stop all this from ever happening. Haven, Maia, the sky – everything.”

“Including Alistair?” Madanach said, a tad wistfully. “I love you, you know that, but he's a sweetheart, you know?”

“I know,” Elisif said quietly. “I'll have to see what happens and talk it over with you, I guess. If Maia's OK and you've got me, you might not care about anything else.”

Madanach closed his eyes and pulled her closer, and if Elisif had had any doubts about how he felt, they faded away as the love and affection she remembered from when they'd first got married wrapped itself round her again.

“I love you,” she heard him whisper. “Please fix this. Save the world.”

“Don't I always?” she said, and Madanach kissed her cheek and let her go, just taking her hand.

“Then I'd better tell you how it got broken,” he purred, sly grin crossing his face. “Come on, I'll write you some notes on what went wrong. That way you'll know how to stop it happening.”

Which came as something of a surprise to Elisif. 

“Hang on, isn't this cheating?” Elisif protested. Madanach shook his head, still grinning.

“Possibly, but when have you ever known me to fight fair?” Madanach laughed. 

When the stakes were this high, never, but that was what Elisif rather liked about him. So she followed Madanach to the room he'd repurposed as his study and settled down to listen as he told her what she'd need to do. She had a feeling it would be harrowing, and she wasn't wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

 

Elisif stared at the notes, mind reeling as Madanach had talked. It was beyond bad. She'd expected terrible things, but the details…

The siege at Redcliffe, then this Elder One invading, an invasion force comprised of corrupted Templars that wiped out Haven and then moved on Ferelden. Rifts that couldn't be closed, a Breach that couldn't be closed and demons exponentially swarming into the world. Then Orlais was invaded by an army of demons that swept all before it, and Empress Celene was assassinated at her own peace talks. Orlais fell and the world fell apart.

In the face of all that, learning that one spirit had taken human form and tried to help was a bit of an anticlimax.

“Cole's a spirit?” Elisif said, confused. “I didn't know they could look human.”

“Most don't. Most go mad once they hit Mundus, unless specially summoned and bound,” Madanach admitted. “Sometimes that breaks them too. There's beings that have solid form in Oblivion but they don't look human either. Cole's unique. We think he's a spirit of compassion that came to comfort a young apostate that the Templars locked away and forgot about, and he took that boy's form. He's got a spirit's abilities to hide, disappear, make you forget – Eola and Varric have been working with him, trying to help him become more human. All this has affected him pretty badly. But he's trustworthy. He's trying. He's a nippy little stealth fighter, like Cicero. Cicero couldn't stand him at first but we think it was mostly because Cicero was jealous of him. After the grandkids… Cole comforted Cicero, after we got him back. When he comes to you, trust him. He'll likely turn up right when Corypheus is beating down your door.”

Corypheus. The darkspawn with a soul. Who Varric swore he and his friend Hawke had killed, apparently. Varric had tried to get hold of Hawke but with armies and demons, she'd never made it to them. Given that her sister Bethany had died when a pride demon had stormed through a rift in the courtyard, it was probably just as well.

“How do I even start stopping all this?” Elisif whispered. “I mean, how??”

“Talk Anora into letting you all leave. Take the mages with you. Close the Breach at least, and either fortify or abandon Haven when you're done, it won't be safe,” Madanach said quietly. “Save Maia. Keep permanently sealing rifts with your mark, and see if you can figure out the other two words of the Shout then teach Alistair. Two of you can go faster than one. Then find out where that demon army came from. Summoning that amount of demons requires mages, but we had most of the rebels with us. I don't know where else you'd find that number of organised, military trained mages, not in Thedas. The apostates not with the rebellion aren't that organised.”

Vivienne's loyalists were the only other faction of mages Elisif knew of, but this just wasn't their style, also Vivienne would be on her way to Haven. She was going to be on their side, and the Court Enchanter was too fond of exploiting the system to destroy it. Whatever Vivienne's flaws, this just didn't seem like her. And if she was kept close, tabs kept on her people, Elisif would have warning. So where else would have mages in its ranks?”

“Grey Wardens are the only other order to have mages among them, but they're not solely mages and they'd never side with a darkspawn, surely?” Madanach sighed. “I don't know, Elisif… but someone out there will. Your Inquisition, if it survives, likely is a lot better resourced than we are.”

Elisif hoped so. This was a tall order, but she had very little choice. Madanach finished writing and passed the notes over to her.

“There. Everything I can remember. Any hints and tips I can think of. Oh, and a letter for me. Give it to me when you next see me, right?”

Elisif traced the rune seal on the back – not keyed to her this time, and while Madanach probably hadn't enchanted it to summon a horde of demons when broken by unauthorised individuals, Elisif wasn't going to take the risk. She pocketed the notes and agreed to share them.

And then a tremor shook the entire castle.

“What was that?” Elisif gasped. It felt like a dragon had just landed on the roof.

“A dragon just landed on the roof,” Madanach growled as the castle shook again. “There's a reason they won.”

“MADANACH!” Alistair shouted from outside. “MADANACH GET OUT HERE WE NEED YOU, THEY BROUGHT THE NEW ONE!”

“New what?” Elisif gasped. “New dragon??”

“Yeah,” Madanach said quietly. “I didn't write it down because I want no one else but you knowing. But Corypheus had a Thedosian dragon… until reinforcements landed on the Storm Coast with their own dragon. Reinforcements from Tamriel.”

“Tamriel??” Elisif gasped. “They came… they brought Odahviing!”

“Yeah, and he killed Corypheus's beast… but he didn't know about the Blight,” Madanach said sombrely. “He got corrupted. Elisif, you know about the Blight, you know it starts when darkspawn corrupt an old dragon god of Tevinter.”

“A corrupted Dovah starts a Blight,” Elisif whispered, shock freezing her blood as she both mourned a friend and realised what she'd inadvertently unleashed.

“Yes, and you have no idea what damage a Blighted Dovah can do with an army of darkspawn and the Thu'um at its disposal,” Madanach sighed. “We are basically fucked unless we ensure you are there to meet the Tamrielic relief force, warn Odahviing what he's up against and make sure he _isn't corrupted._ And if he does get the Blight, you HAVE to kill him. You are the only one who can end a dragon. A Grey Warden can also end an Archdemon, but not without dying. Alistair could bring Odahviing down, but it could kill him. I… couldn't send him away, Elisif. You have to stop this.”

“What happened to the rest of the relief force – oh,” Elisif whispered. She'd heard Borkul and Blackwall talking about the Storm Coast. There were darkspawn lurking beneath, Grey Wardens in the area had sensed them, Odahviing had likely flown back, called his new darkspawn minions and destroyed the entire force before savaging Ferelden. Elisif felt sick at the thought of good men and women who'd come to fight for her, dying at the hands of her own dragon.

As if on cue, the castle shook again.

“Is he… trying to get in?” Elisif gasped.

“Probably,” Madanach said, shrugging. “You've seen him fight. You know how strong he is. He's capable of shouting the gates in or ripping the roof off.”

“MADANACH!” That was Cassandra. “WE NEED YOU! THE ROOF IS STARTING TO CRACK!”

“I need to help the others, try and buy time,” Madanach said, taking her arm. “You need to get to Dorian, now. Old gods help us, we can only hope he's had enough time to fix the spell.”

Elisif raced after him, darting past various fighters, all running for the main gate, which was being hammered in repeatedly. Just as she got to the Great Hall, she heard it.

“ _ **FUS RO DAAAHHHH!!!!!**_ ”

The gate exploded and darkspawn tore in, Cassandra rallying the defenders but it was only a matter of time before they overran the entire castle. And behind them, Elisif caught a glimpse of a shadow taking flight. A black and red dragon, an old friend gone horribly wrong.

“Madanach, I have to -” Elisif began and Madanach wrenched open the throne room door and shoved her in.

“This battle is lost,” Madanach snarled. “You have to get back to your own time and _stop this happening!_ ”

Inside the room, Dorian was doing something with the amulet, and Elisif could only pray he'd got somewhere.

“Dorian!” Elisif cried. “Have you done it??”

“Yes!” Dorian cried. “Nearly! I just need a couple of minutes!”

“We don't have time!” Fiona cried, ordering her people out to fight. “But we'll buy it for you. Son, I need you to stay here and…”

“Bugger that, Mum, you need me,” Alistair said grimly, having shouted for Madanach then fallen back to help his mother. “I'm the only one can kill an Archdemon, even one of those terrifying Tamrielic ones that can talk.”

“AH-LAAS-DAH!” came the familiar Thu'um, shuddering through the stone. “Come out and face me, little Dovahkiin.”

“It's me he wants,” Alistair said fiercely. He pulled his mother in for an embrace, before turning to Madanach and to Elisif's shock, kissed him full on the lips.

“I love you, you messed-up bastard,” Alistair told him as Madanach closed his eyes and gasped for breath, cheeks flushed with arousal. “Thank you for everything. I think you're a hero and always will.”

“Bion,” Madanach whispered. “You could do so much better than me.” Alistair just smiled and patted his cheek before turning to Elisif and placing a hand on her shoulder.

“When you get back, you make sure he's all right,” Alistair said, voice firm and commanding for once. “You take good care of him. Even if I don't get to have him after all, you make sure he's OK and happy.” 

“I promise,” Elisif whispered, and then Alistair hugged her as well. 

“Good,” Alistair whispered in her ear. “For the record, you're really fucking pretty, I was never going to compete with you, was I?”

The resignation in his voice broke her heart, but there was no time to comfort him. So she settled for leaning forward and kissing him on the lips.

“It's not a competition,” she whispered, before patting him on the arm and pointing at the Great Hall, already starting to fill with darkspawn. “Go on, go be a Warden.”

Alistair nodded and pulling on his helm, sprinted into the fray, with Fiona right after him. Madanach closed the door behind them.

“You're not joining the fight?” Elisif whispered. “They need their general!”

“They'll fight regardless,” Madanach said, gritting his teeth. “You need someone to hold the door while Dorian _gets on with it!_ ”

“I'm trying!” Dorian shouted, annoyed. “Look, can Elisif get over here?? When this thing fires, it'll fire quickly and she needs to be in range!”

“Go,” Madanach said softly. “Don't worry, you'll see me again soon.”

Elisif reached out to kiss Madanach and for a few brief moments the world faded away as Elisif kissed her husband and nothing else mattered. Until the entire castle shook as the Great Hall roof caved in.

“Dorian!” Madanach shouted. “HURRY UP!”

“ _DOVAHKIIN!!!!_ ” Odahviing roared. “Here I am!”

“And here am I!” Alistair shouted back above the sound of battle. Madanach shoved Elisif towards Dorian.

“Go on, go, we have not got long,” Madanach gasped, and Elisif staggered over to where Dorian was doing something with a portal.

“Dorian, come on,” Elisif gasped.

“I WAS NOT TALKING TO YOU, KIIR-SKAHAAN!” Odahviing shouted. “YOLAAZOV IS HERE, I KNOW IT! WHERE IS SHE?”

He knew. Somehow Odahviing knew. It took all Elisif's strength not to rise to the bait.

“Don't you even dare leave, I am not going back without you!” Dorian said firmly. Elisif bit her lip and stayed put and listened as Alistair answered.

“You will not have her!” Alistair shouted, and then came the clash of steel as battle intensified. Elisif shut her eyes, ages seeming to pass while screams echoed outside, and then it came. Hammering on the door, great thuds, and Madanach answered by sending shock magic into the steel fittings. Darkspawn howled in pain and shrank back, and Odahviing laughed.

“Ah… she is behind that door. With Maar-Dinok. I know his power. MAAR-DINOK! I will prove you badly named!”

“Got it!” Dorian laughed, the portal suddenly expanding, ready to leap through. “Elisif, let's go!”

Madanach nodded and ripped the doors open, striding into the hall where the black rotting thing that had once been her beloved Dovah was climbing in through the roof.

“Odahviing!” Madanach announced cheerfully in Tamrielic. “You look absolutely fucking dreadful.”

Odahviing hissed, stepping over Alistair's butchered corpse and Fiona's charred remains, heedless of the darkspawn rampaging around him, one cutting down Cassandra and five others converging on Leliana who was reciting the Chant of Light and shooting arrows into them… but not fast enough. Bianca's shattered remains littered the floor and in one corner the howls of Eola's beast form went up as a knot of darkspawn finally had her on the floor. No sign of Cole and not many other fighters left either. Just Madanach facing down Odahviing.

“Maar-Dinok,” Odahviing growled. “I will take great delight in telling the story of how I was the one to kill _you._ ”

Madanach just laughed. 

“Kill this body, but you will not be the one to end Madanach,” Madanach laughed, still talking in Tamrielic, except his voice was changing and Elisif realised with horror he'd switched languages not because it was easier but because he'd yielded his translation spirit… and let something more dangerous in. “Madanach is _already gone!_ ”

Elisif screamed his name as her husband's body twisted and mutated, horns and scales of its own appearing until all that was left was a pride demon, facing down a Dovah Archdemon and its darkspawn horde.

“How ironic,” the demon laughed. “Madanach's pride made all this possible, and now it's been his undoing. Just like pride was yours, Odahviing-Skahaan.”

Odahviing howled in outrage, and prepared to Shout, and Elisif screamed again… but Dorian had grabbed her round the waist, picked her up and shoved her bodily into the portal, staggering through with her, and as they fell into it, the world went green around them… and the nightmare was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they're back in the room! Thank you for sticking with me through all that, it started rough and stayed there. But Elisif's back in the present now. None of that ever happened. Elisif'll stop it. It'll be fine. It'll all be just fine.
> 
> Next chapter, it's back in Redcliffe, where everyone reacts and the mage rebellion's problems come to a head.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elisif's home and safe, but the trauma of what she witnessed will live with her for some time. But she has Madanach back, and with disaster averted, it's time to unpick just what's going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world is going to hell in a handbasket. And so I return to writing fic about a world where the sky's ripped open and demons are pouring out of it because it's better than the reality. Eh, don't mind me, I'm English. Should tell you everything you need to know...
> 
> Anyway, next chapter. I had a few negative reactions to the shipping reveal in last one, but I don't mind, it got rid of them early. Although I did feel a bit sorry for the one who ranted at me for being a terrible person because Alistair is VERY YOUNG, all of twenty years old apparently, and Elisif and Madanach are not young people. (Fair points with Mads, but Elisif canonically could have been as young as 18 or 19 in the Dragon Year, making her only 25 now. I went for 23, making her now thirty.)
> 
> What this poor aggrieved reviewer doesn't seem to have realised is that Alistair was twenty in Dragon Age Origins, during the Fifth Blight (born in 9:10 DA). Dragon Age Inquisition, when this fic is set, takes place over TEN YEARS after the Blight, in 9:41. He's now thirty, maybe even thirty one. He's the same age Elisif is. Either way, more than capable age-wise of making his own decisions.
> 
> This one, and the one following it, because I'm thinking of a double-bill again, follow Elisif's return to the present. It's not without complications.

Elisif staggered into natural light, Dorian holding her up until they were out of the portal and back on stone, solid stone, in Redcliffe's throne room… and it was quiet. No demons. No darkspawn. No corrupted Dovah that had once been her friend. Just silence as an entire room stared at her, because tears were rolling down her cheeks, she must look awful, and she surely felt it. But most of all she felt her husband, furious, heartbroken, enraged, Dorian crying his name in alarm…

There he was. Scruffy, grimy but back in his King of the Forsworn gear, ebony axe raised above Alexius to strike him down, and Alexius seemed terrified, not casting for some reason… but Madanach heard Dorian's voice and looked up sharply… and let Alexius go as he saw her.

“Madanach!” Elisif cried, not caring he was unshaven and in dire need of a bath. He was alive and well and not a pride demon and Elisif realised she didn't care about anything else. She had her husband back. Taking the Jagged Crown off, she handed it over to Cicero, who'd materialised and started squeaking at her excitedly, and closed the gap between her and her husband, crushing him in a full bear-hug.

“You're alive,” Elisif sobbed. “You're OK! You're still you!”

“I'm me again,” Madanach said, voice choking as the bond practically shivered with emotion. Joy, ecstasy, delight, happiness like she'd never known, sheer, unfettered relief. “We thought you'd...”

“Takes more than being cast out of time to kill a Dovah, just ask Alduin,” Elisif whispered, words pouring out of her in Tamrielic so as not to alarm the Thedosian contingent, although she just bet Cicero was sidling up to eavesdrop. “Madanach, I was a year in the future, it was horrible, the Breach had taken over the entire sky, demons had conquered Orlais, Ferelden had fallen, there were demons everywhere and a full-on Blight, and Maia was dead and everyone was dead and you sacrificed yourself so Dorian and I could get back here and… and why are you smiling??”

“You disappear and the world goes to hell,” Madanach said, smiling despite the tears rolling down his face, stroking her cheek before kissing her forehead. “I knew that, cariad. You're the hero out of legend sent by the gods themselves. Of course we need you.”

“How am I supposed to stop all that??” Elisif cried.

“Tell me everything you learned and we'll work out a way of preventing any of it happening,” Madanach murmured, kissing her cheek this time. “You've got your Inquisition, and I'm sure the mages will help too. Think they'll let us keep this place?”

Elisif honestly doubted this and sure enough, someone started hammering on the door.

“OPEN UP IN THE NAME OF FERELDEN!” a woman shouted, and off to one side, a man shrieked.

“Buggeration, she's come in person!” Alistair cried, reaching for his helm. “Maker help me, she _cannot_ find me here, she'll execute us all for treason!”

“What?” Fiona gasped, turning to see him for the first time, the blood draining from her face. “She… execute you?”

“Yes!” Alistair cried. “I left the Wardens, she tried to have me executed, it was only Lyra talked her out of it! She finds me here, in a castle held by foreign powers, she'll assume I'm making a bid for the throne! Er, hello by the way, Alistair Theirin at your service, are you all right?”

Fiona's gaze hardened as she produced her staff. 

“She will not have you,” Fiona said firmly, and Elisif began to realise how the siege had got started because now Madanach had that look in his eyes, and things were about to get completely out of hand.

“I know Anora, let me...” Leliana began, but Elisif let Madanach go and took the Jagged Crown back off Cicero, putting it back on her head.

“Cassandra, watch Alexius. Alistair, get that helmet on and behind that pillar, Cicero and Eola stand in front of him. Cicero, widest smile, just like that, perfect, Eola, put your arms round him and look predatory, wonderful, no one will pay any attention to the visored warrior behind you. Fiona, put your staff away, everyone weapons down, yes Cicero, including you, Leliana, get the door, and I will handle negotiations. Madanach, don't give me that look. You're an apostate maleficar, I'm Herald of Andraste, you're not the one with the bargaining power here.”

“Oh, lovely, just tell everyone I'm a blood mage, why not...” Madanach muttered, but he stood back, axe away, glaring at Alexius but not saying anything more as he took up a stance behind his wife.

“Your Majesty, it's wonderful to see you again, I can explain everything, the Inquisition were just...” Leliana began, only to be swept aside by the blonde woman in shiny armour who managed to stare imperiously enough to stop even Leliana talking, although in fairness, the phalanx of heavily armed Fereldan soldiers didn't help either.

Queen Anora swept into the room and Elisif stood up straight and reminded herself she was a High Queen as well, and a dragonslayer at that.

“I'm sure the Inquisition will give me a full accounting of _exactly_ what has transpired here,” Anora snapped. “ _After_ I speak with the Grand Enchanter – Fiona, when I gave you and your fellow mages sanctuary here, I was under the impression that you would obey the laws of the land and NOT send my people packing from their homes!”

“Your Majesty, I can explain...” Fiona began, looking rather nervous and who could blame her? Elisif motioned for Cassandra to bring Alexius forward. 

“It was all this man's fault, Your Majesty,” Elisif said, taking hold of Alexius's robes and throwing him at Anora's feet. “He's part of a cult of Tevinter supremacists who were conspiring to, what was it, Make Tevinter Great Again, is that the motto?”

“Fortissima Teventia Iterum Magna,” Felix Alexius said, stepping out of the shadows and adjusting his clothing. “It's ridiculous, I know. But it is true. He's my father. He'd joined these cultists, they had this mad idea to reconquer the south for Tevinter. I was sick and nearly dying, he thought they could heal me.”

Anora's attention had swivelled to Felix, and to Elisif's surprise a faint blush crept across her cheeks… but she'd been queen too long to let anything more show.

“I see,” Anora said, raising an eyebrow. “And presumably evicting Arl Teagan was his idea?”

“Yes,” Felix admitted. “He'd used time magic and various other things to undermine the Grand Enchanter as well.”

Anora turned cold eyes to Alexius, who'd just hung his head in shame.

“Do what you want,” he said listlessly. “I surrender, you win. Just… don't hurt my son. Please, he's all I have left!”

Anora pursed her lips before beckoning her guards forward.

“Then I'm taking this man into custody for questioning. You will come with me as well, I shall need to interrogate you closely.”

From the way she said that to Felix, Elisif had a feeling Anora had something else in mind entirely. Then the Fereldan Queen turned to face her.

“I don't believe we've been introduced. Are you… Inquisition?”

Elisif held up her hand, mark visible.

“Elisif, Herald of Andraste,” Elisif said calmly. “Here to prevent disaster. You understand I could not allow this Venatori cult to abscond with the rebel mages.”

“They had an alliance?” Anora said, raising an eyebrow. “Collusion with an enemy power is treason, Herald.”

“Hardly an alliance, Alexius was plotting to enslave them all,” Dorian protested. “And we're not at war with Ferelden, and the Venatori aren't part of the Tevinter government! Archon Radonis has always disavowed them!”

“Archon Radonis shall be explaining himself to me, rest assured of that,” Anora said coldly. “As it is, I will not have a faction in my country that is so easily suborned. I am withdrawing my offer of sanctuary, Grand Enchanter. You and your mages will have to go elsewhere.”

“What?” Fiona cried. “But we've got elders, children, it's the middle of winter and the nearest country is Orlais! Which is having a civil war! Where will we go?”

“Haven,” Elisif said, seizing the opportunity. “You'll join the Inquisition. We came here to secure the mage rebellion's assistance in closing the Breach, and we still need help. Come with us, and we will offer the protection of the Inquisition. Your Majesty, are you happy with the Inquisition taking custody of the mages?”

Anora nodded.

“Haven's far enough away that they can't hurt anyone but you,” Anora agreed, assenting to this. Elisif breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Fiona, who still looked suspicious. 

“And what are the terms of this… custody?” Fiona said, eyes narrowed. “You said you supported mage freedom or was that a convenient lie to try and gain our trust?”

Anora had raised an eyebrow and the entire room had gone quiet.

“Elisif, you cannot let them loose with no oversight,” Cassandra said fiercely.

“Blue-eyes, you can't treat the mages as a whole one way then negotiate convenient exceptions for your family,” Varric warned her.

Dorian folded his arms, looking rather disapproving.

“Hopefully these terms will be better than what Alexius was offering – the Inquisition is better than that, yes?”

“Hope so, I need freedom to work and… research,” Eola said, her tone light but her words serious, and Cicero nodded vigorously.

“Pretty Elisif would not sell mages down the Niben!” Cicero cooed. “Elisif is honourable! A woman of integrity! The Herald of Andraste is not a hypocrite! Is she.”

The quiet menace in Cicero's words were clear – he'd not easily forget a betrayal of a group that encompassed his wife and kids. But the strongest reaction was Madanach's, no words but a certain expectancy from the marriage bond, a firm expectation that Elisif would side with the rebels or… it wasn't certain, but Elisif couldn't lose him again, not over politics of a nation not even their own. Most of all, Elisif thought of Maia's little face staring hopefully up at her… and Maia sobbing her heart out after another nightmare of Templars killing her father and dragging her away to be locked in a Circle.

Not her baby. Not anyone's baby, ever again. And so it was a mother's fierce love of her child that changed Thedosian history forever, as the Herald of Andraste made what would later be known as the historic Redcliffe Declaration on Mage Rights.

“I do not deny magic is dangerous,” Elisif announced. “And I do not deny specialist arcane law enforcement might be required to deal with criminals using magic. But Andraste's commandment that magic should serve man, not rule over him, was not intended to supersede justice and the rule of law, nor was it intended to exchange one form of slavery for another. And so I declare that the Inquisition supports free mages, and that no law-abiding mage shall be held prisoner without just cause, a fair trial and due process of law, but that mages shall live in community with the rest of us, using their skills to serve and benefit their communities, training young mages to use their powers safely, and if need be, assisting local law enforcement to bring those who would use magic to do harm to justice. And they shall have full rights of marriage to a consenting partner, and to raise the children of that marriage, or any child of theirs born out of wedlock, in peace. Mages are people, citizens like anyone else, and they shall live as such in any territory I preside over. Well, Fiona? Did you and your people want to join the Inquisition as free mages?”

Fiona had a hand over her mouth, looking as if she were about to cry, and Elisif realised that while Fiona had been amazed throughout, it had been the reference to mages being able to raise their kids that had got to her. She really was Alistair's mother, wasn't she?

“Yes,” Fiona whispered. “Of course. I – we – we never thought we'd ever have allies. Lady Herald, we'd be happy to help you.”

“Then welcome aboard,” Elisif said, shaking Fiona's hand before giving her the traditional Nord hug of welcome to a new friend, while in the background she could hear Cicero squealing and Eola cheering, even while Cassandra hissed to Leliana that Elisif couldn't just make decisions like that on behalf of the Inquisition to which Leliana cheerfully remarked someone had to. Fiona seemed a bit surprised but returned the hug before backing away and curtseying. Elisif nodded in return and turned her attention back to Anora… who actually looked impressed.

“Are we going to have a problem over this?” Elisif asked her and Anora actually smiled slightly.

“You have given me much to think about, Herald,” Anora said thoughtfully. “In fact, you may have helped me. I must consider all this, but be sure I may be making my own announcement before all this is over. Grand Enchanter, you have one week to vacate Redcliffe with your people, after that I will be returning in force to reinstate Arl Teagan. Good day, Lady Elisif. Come, bring these two, Magister Alexius and his son – I don't believe I got your name?”

“Felix, your Majesty,” Felix said, doing his best to sound humble. Anora smiled as she fell into step alongside him, and while she might be nearly forty by now, she was still a very charming and attractive woman.

“Felix! Tevene for good luck or happiness, isn't it? It's a good name! It suits you. How old did you say you were?”

“Twenty eight, your Majesty.”

“Really?? I had no idea, you look younger. Well, that's not so bad, not as scandalous as I'd feared.”

“Scandalous, your Majesty??”

“Oh don't worry, darling, nothing to be concerned about. Are you a mage like your father then?”

“Not like him! I mean, I can do a bit of magic, if I try, but honestly I'm better with the theory than the practice, in fact I was studying maths in Orlais before I got ill...”

“Orlais? I've never been, politics you know. You must tell me all about the place...”

The door closed behind them, leaving silence in Anora's wake. Then Cicero was the first to break the silence by squealing.

“WE DID IT WE DID IT, PRETTY EOLA WE DID IT!” This was followed by Cicero pouncing on Eola and cuddling her.

“Mission accomplished,” Dorian announced proudly. “Well done, everyone. Aren't we fabulous. Especially the one who rescued the Herald from the dystopic future, who was that – ah yes. It was me. Well done me.”

“Is he always that egomaniacal?” Alistair sighed, emerging from the shadows and ruffling his hair back into shape, helmet off now he was safe. 

“Apparently,” Leliana said, grinning. “But if he did save her, we do owe him.”

“I'll get the story off her later,” Varric promised. “When she's, you know, free.”

Elisif was paying very little attention to any of this. She'd turned to face Madanach, ecstatic relief this had all actually worked on her face, seen him smiling back at her and forgotten the rest of the world existed. He'd just stepped forward, tears in his eyes and then he was kissing her and Elisif had not a coherent thought in her head.

_I missed you, I love you, I'm so glad you're back, please don't stop kissing me._

Elisif felt answering emotion from him as arms went round her and he pulled her to him, and it wasn't until they realised the entire room was cheering that they both broke off, Madanach looking a little embarrassed. 

“Elisif, literally everyone is staring at me, who is the woman in the armour who is staring adoringly at us, and why is that dwarf taking notes?”

“Oh, he writes books,” Elisif explained. “I think he's writing one about the Inquisition. And the Alduin story. Don't worry, I've made him promised to run them by me first.”

“Do they get run by me?” Madanach said nervously. Elisif said nothing, just smiling and kissing his cheek.

“Don't worry, love, I'll make sure you come across as suitably suave and dangerous,” Elisif promised, which did not help Madanach feel any better, and he told her so.

Elisif stroked his cheek, noticing as she did that he'd shaved his facial hair off entirely at some point, because the stubble from a week in jail was all fairly even. And… it was growing back blonde. Elisif looked closer and realised with horror the roots of his hair were blonde, it was all turning from an old man's silver hair to a younger man's blonde hair. 

He'd had blonde hair in the future. Mara have mercy, it hadn't been a dream. The future if they failed was a nightmare in which their baby died.

Elisif put a hand to her face, feeling nausea welling up inside – Maia, dear gods, Maia, she needed to get to Haven before it was too late and make sure her baby was all right. Madanach caught the distress at once.

“Elisif?” he whispered. “Gods, Elisif, are you all right?”

Elisif shook her head and clung onto him, bursting into tears.

“I went into the future and it was horrible and Maia died and you turned into a pride demon and…”

Madanach didn't say anything, taking her into his arms and kissing her on the cheek.

“We're going back to the tavern, we're having dinner and a bath and then bed and you can tell me all about it,” Madanach murmured, using the same soothing voice he used with Maia when she was upset. “And then we're going to make sure none of it ever comes to pass, hmm?”

Elisif nodded tearfully, feeling exhausted and achy and hungry and in need of several hours of sleep, and it was all she could do to cling on to her husband as he escorted her out of Redcliffe Castle.

With the Herald being escorted out of the room, there was little left for the rest of them to do, and Cicero and Eola followed them with Cicero cooing over his beloved wife, then Cassandra shaking her head and ordering the Inquisition troops out, her mind very much on how on earth to break the news to Cullen that the Herald of Andraste had publicly declared her support for mage freedom and committed the Inquisition to it.

Leaving Alistair sidling out from behind a pillar, eyes following Madanach and Elisif out, indescribably sad expression on his face. And alas for him, Leliana didn't miss this sort of thing.

“Are you all right, Alistair?” Leliana asked, coming to stand next to him. “You look upset. Something bothering you?” She glanced after Elisif and turned back, shaking her head. “Alistair, she's married. Happily so from the look of it. Madanach might be dangerous but he is no Maferath.”

“I know,” Alistair said bitterly, faint smile on his face. “That's the problem.”

Leliana shook her head, looking faintly puzzled but not pressing him. No, it was Dorian who managed that one, coming to stand behind him and patting his shoulder sympathetically.

“Ah yes, developing feelings for older married men,” Dorian sighed. “Alistair, old chap, trust me, this never ends well. It will end in tears, most likely yours, that's if Elisif doesn't execute you first. Or send her little jester friend to take care of the problem for her.”

Alistair visibly shuddered, and Leliana just looked confused.

“Alistair, you're not into men. Are you??”

“No!” Alistair gasped. “I mean… no? He's just… he made the Calling go away. He listened to me and told me stories and was nice to me and...”

“Ah,” Dorian said, nodding in understanding. “Father issues. I understand completely.”

“Dorian!” Leliana hissed. “You're not helping!” 

Dorian subsided, having learnt enough to know Leliana was not someone to rile for the sake of it… but they were interrupted by the Grand Enchanter, whose attention had been caught by something else they'd said.

“Did I – did I hear correctly? Did you say you were having the Calling?”

Alistair nodded guiltily, rubbing his forehead because the illusion had worn off and the tainted melody was starting to filter into his mind again, the sick song of the Blight.

“Yes,” Alistair admitted. “I know I'm a bit young to be having it, but I am and… well, I'm going to die. So I might as well do something worthwhile with my life before I go, right? Leliana, is there room in the Inquisition for a failed Grey Warden?”

Leliana's eyes widened and she nodded, before reaching out and cuddling Alistair.

“You are not a failure and there is always room in any organisation I'm part of for you,” Leliana told him. “And… for however long you've got, I'm here for you.”

“Thank you,” Alistair whispered, hugging Leliana, who returned the embrace and led him away, and while the years had hardened Leliana, she would always have time for Alistair.

So would Fiona, who was staring after him, pale and shaken and looking like she was about to be sick. Dorian couldn't help but notice.

“Grand Enchanter, are you well? Only if you're about to vomit, please point away from me. This outfit is my only nice one.”

Fiona shook her head, looking down and wiping a tear away. 

“He can't have the Calling, he's only thirty, he only took the Joining a little over a decade ago,” Fiona said vehemently. “Is someone speeding it up? Is it… no, no, can't be. And Madanach stopped it??” She turned to face Dorian, eyes sparkling with fury. “Do you know any blood magic that might halt the darkspawn taint??”

“No,” Dorian said, confused. “Trust me, if we'd found a cure for that, the world would look very different today.”

“No doubt,” Fiona said softly. “I need to speak to Madanach… after he's spent tonight getting reacquainted with his wife anyway.”

Dorian watched Fiona go back to hustling her mages out of the castle, very sure that something more was going on than he could tell… and equally sure that when it did come to light, it would be absolutely _delicious._ Probably traumatic for poor Alistair, and if ever a man needed a drink and a hug it was that one, but Dorian could provide that too if needed.

Dorian had never been more certain of his decision to join the Inquisition. Things were going to get absolutely _fascinating._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next hour or so passed in a bit of a blur for Elisif. Madanach had looked at her, ascertained that she'd been several hours in a dystopic future while only minutes had passed for him, which meant she was exhausted, not to mention scared and traumatised, and immediately decided what Elisif needed was someone else to take charge of all the decision-making for a bit, and steered her back to the tavern.

Madanach's room was fortunately more or less as he'd left it, apart from a couple of younger rebel mages who'd moved in, thinking he might not be coming back, but obviously here you are sir, we'll be on our way sir, please don't set fire to us sir.

“Thought they don't remember you being Enchanter-General,” Elisif whispered.

“Apparently I am still as intimidating as I ever was even without that,” Madanach said cheerfully. “All right, let's sort you out with a bath...”

A tub of cold water, soap and some towels arrived, and Elisif was treated to Madanach heating the thing up with Destruction magic, before he turned towards her, turned her around, and began helping her get out of her armour, and it hit Elisif all of a sudden that she had a husband again. A proper husband, who could tend to her and fuss over her and help her with Maia and comfort her, and reassume full husbandly duties.

Madanach paused, and carefully leaned forward, kissing her gently on the neck, having sensed something change in her mood.

“Time for that later. Bath first, love.”

So Elisif settled into a nice warm bath while Madanach started shaving, and while this helped, this definitely helped, it was going to be a long time before she felt all right again.

“The world broke,” Elisif said quietly. “I've got to save the world or everyone dies and the sky gets swallowed by the Breach. Madanach, this is impossible!”

“Can't imagine it's harder than killing Alduin,” Madanach said, staring into the mirror as he lathered up his face.

“That was one dragon!” Elisif cried. “This is… this is something else!”

“Yeah, it's an Oblivion crisis,” Madanach said calmly. “The world survived one before.”

“A Dragonborn had to die to do it!” Elisif cried, remembering the story all too well, and that did give Madanach pause, Elisif practically feeling fear-worry-anger-determination flitting through his mind.

“That will not be Plan A,” Madanach said eventually, the razor resuming its journey across his face.

“No, but it might figure as Plan B, C, or D or… look, when do things ever go as planned?? A week ago, I was assuming my trip to Redcliffe would be easy, I turn up, happy reunion with you, happy surprise to see Maia again, easy alliance negotiation then all back to Haven to fix the sky. Then Alexius happened, and our terrified baby turns up at Haven pleading with me to save you,” Elisif sighed, before recalling what else Maia had told her and turning back to face him. “Seriously, Madanach, what were you thinking, bringing her?? And you had her fighting _demons??_ ”

“I swear I don't remember!” Madanach protested, attention turning to his other cheek as he carefully positioned the mirror to keep Elisif in view, just in case she decided to throw something at him. “She can close rifts though. And I didn't want to leave her. She was traumatised by your bloody guards abducting her! She didn't want me to go as well!”

Elisif quietly let him have that one. Secretly she was pleased to have Maia back as well… but not if she came to harm.

“She's our baby,” Elisif said fiercely. “And she's NOT going out demon-hunting again. Or riding dragons! Or going anywhere near the fighting! Honestly Madanach, she died in that dark future! She's not… I'm not having her in danger.”

Madanach had flinched at the mention of her death, then nodded quietly.

“I promise, Elisif. No more taking Maia into danger. Although I am fairly certain Maia was not actually fighting the demons personally – I must have had Liriel or Eola or someone watching over her from a distance.”

“Those terror demons can travel through the ground in seconds,” Elisif snapped. “And the despair demons have impressive ranged attacks which everyone else swears are freezing. They are a bit chilly, I must say...”

“I know – look, never mind,” Madanach sighed, razor moving to his neck. “This dark future then. What else had happened? I don't suppose you took notes. If we know what happened, we can prevent it. This isn't some oracular prophecy that is so vague as to be meaningless or that might become self-fulfilling because the gods don't like us trying to avoid fate or something. This is you travelling into a future where you weren't around to help, now you're back in a present where you're here to save us. What exactly did you learn?”

“I've got a timeline,” Elisif said, indicating her pack. “Future you insisted on writing me a detailed set of notes, things that went wrong and the sort of thing we need to do to fix things. He wrote you a letter too. Said it was for your eyes only.” 

“I did?” Madanach said, rubbing his face with a towel before reaching for his toothbrush. “I mean, of course I did, I'm a genius. I'll be sure to read them later. But I'd rather hear your version. Go on, tell me everything.”

So Madanach brushed his teeth while Elisif recounted how Madanach had killed Alexius, and then presumably still covered in blood, heard Anora hammering on the door, listened to Fiona who wanted to protect Alistair, and sealed the door, commencing a siege that only ended when the mysterious Corypheus the Elder One invaded, destroying first Haven before crushing Anora's army with his own force of corrupted Templars.

“And possibly a dragon,” Elisif finished. “Although you weren't entirely sure if that was a tale or not as you'd not seen it personally. He killed Maia, Madanach!”

Madanach shivered, before finally rinsing his mouth out and turning to face her.

“She isn't dead,” Madanach said firmly. “And the siege has been averted. Alexius is still alive, Anora's withdrawn and allowed the mages to leave peacefully, and we parted on friendly-ish terms. I think you impressed her.”

Elisif allowed that this was the case, sinking back into the bath as it occurred to her history had already changed. The Inquisition and mage rebellion united, and Haven likely safer with all the extra fighters it would have – if they got back there in time. And the Fereldan Crown supportive – now that was something. Anora's help would be invaluable. 

“We still have to get Haven defensible or find somewhere else,” Elisif said, rinsing the soap off her legs. “And find out how he got a demon army and see if it's possible to save the Templars somehow and stop him killing the Orlesian Empress, and find out who or what Corypheus even is and how to kill him.”

“We'll find out,” Madanach promised, dropping to his knees behind her. “Your friend Leliana seems to know what she's doing. Now we've got a name, we can find out what he wants and where he is.”

Tevinter ruling the world, if the Venatori were any judge. Not exactly something they could negotiate over. But the Inquisition was growing in power and influence every day. Elisif would find him and deal with him. 

She turned to look at Madanach, considerably less dishevelled and grubby than he had been… and promptly shrieked to see a stranger with her husband's voice but a face devoid of facial hair for the first time since she'd ever known him.

A pained look crossed Madanach's face as he sighed, shaking his head.

“Not you as well, I had enough trouble with Eola,” Madanach said wearily. “My hair was growing in blonde, the face-fur was particularly noticeable, I got tired of questions and staring and pointing and giggling so I shaved it off and it is staying shaved until my head hair matches. Please don't tell me you hate it and will never love me again.”

Elisif reached out to stroke his cheek, not entirely sure what she felt. Truth be told, he now looked like a silver-haired version of Eola, which disturbed her a little. But he wasn't unattractive and he was still very much her husband.

She leaned into him and kissed him, her lips meeting his as he raised his hands to her cheeks, low moans escaping him as he kissed her back, and by the gods, Elisif wanted him. Alas, he broke off the kiss all too soon.

“I need to bathe properly before I'm fit to be seen with you,” Madanach told her, backing off. “Are you done?”

Elisif was, and she didn't miss the lascivious grin on his face as he watched her get out and start drying herself.

“I'll try not to be long,” Madanach promised as he climbed in the newly vacated bath and set about scrubbing the grime off his skin. Elisif finished drying and watched from the bed, still not used to Madanach being able to do this sort of thing for himself again, having muscle tone again, _knowing who she was again!_ She had him back. She had her husband back.

_Not if he starts lusting after Alistair._

_He wouldn't do that._

_Why not? Alistair's cute. Don't deny you think that._

Well, yes. But the future might not come true. She could surely influence her husband's affections. 

And so she watched as Madanach finally finished, dried himself off, tipped the water from the window and left the empty tub outside the room to be collected later, along with the towels, before he turned his attention back to her.

He came to sit on the edge of the bed next to her, and while he was smiling, he suddenly looked rather nervous, genuine anxiety radiating down the bond.

“Are you… I mean, did you want to… we can just cuddle?” Madanach said, sounding a bit hesitant, and it occurred to Elisif that they'd not been truly intimate in a very long time, and Madanach wouldn't remember a lot of the last three years. No wonder he was nervous.

“Come here, lie down next to me and kiss me and we can take it from there,” Elisif told him, holding out a hand. Madanach smiled, up for that at least, and as he crawled into bed alongside her, kissing led to cuddling, which led to Madanach finally realising his body wasn't going to let him down, not now, not any more, which led to Madanach and Elisif finally reuniting for good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Of course, it was never going to be quite that easy, and once Madanach had cleaned them both up and snuggled back into bed with her, chest against her back and his arms around her, Elisif became aware he'd gone quiet… and then his fingers traced over her hand before turning it over, fingertips ghosting over her mark.

“How did you get this?” Madanach asked softly, and Elisif could hardly fail to miss the worry in his voice.

“It doesn't matter,” Elisif said, instinct telling her to play it down, minimise, don't let her very bright, magically capable husband get near it because then she'd know just how bad it was…

“Well, it looks like a magical burn with considerable power still trapped in it, and you never had it before,” Madanach murmured, brows knotting in a frown. “Elisif, these are serious magical injuries, you can't just ignore them...”

“It's fine!” Elisif snapped, wrenching her hand away, and for a few seconds, both stared back, Elisif hostile, Madanach surprised and hurt… and the heartfelt look in Madanach's eyes had a way of breaking her resolve. 

“I'm sorry,” Elisif whispered, contrite. “I just… I don't know where it comes from, but it closes rifts. We think it can close the Breach too, we just need more magicka.”

“You're not using the Thu'um?” Madanach asked, raising an eyebrow. Elisif shook her head.

“No. I didn't know what words to use – I'm surprised Maia worked one out,” Elisif said. “I wish I knew all three, I'd love to be able to Shout instead of use… this.”

“I wish you did as well,” Madanach said, worry not leaving his face. “Elisif, I've seen magical injuries like this before, this is a particularly nasty one, I'm surprised it's not spreading – do you honestly have no idea what caused it?”

Elisif shook her head. “I arrived in Thedas in a building, which I think was the Temple of Sacred Ashes right before it blew up, heard screaming and ran to see what it was. I don't remember anything else. Only waking up hours later in Haven with Cassandra shouting at me and this on my hand. Apparently they'd found me staggering out of a Fade rift before passing out.”

“You ended up in a Daedric realm and your memories are gone,” Madanach said, eyes narrowing. “That means some fucker stole them, Elisif. Some spirit or minion that specialises in taking memories from the innocent, and it robbed you. Don't know whose it would be, but my best guess is either one of Vaermina's or Sheogorath's. Or one of Sanguine's, but unless you woke up with a hangover, it probably wasn't his doing. Have you been experiencing any other mental health symptoms?”

“No,” Elisif said firmly. “And we don't even know if there are even the same Daedra here that there are at home. All the Atronachs I know of tend to be elementals, or undead. I don't know if we have any emotion specialists back home like the Fade does here, Keirine never mentioned any.”

“Keirine has likely barely told you the half of it,” Madanach chuckled. “But it is true the daedra here are… different. They're definitely minions of Oblivion all right, but I have a feeling the Daedric Princes we know don't have much pull in the Fade over here. Either they've never been interested… or Thedas had Daedric Princes of its own that kept them away.”

“Which do you think it was?” Elisif whispered. Madanach shrugged.

“Daedric Princes are vain, they want to be worshipped,” Madanach said. “It's possible the predominance of the Andraste cult, the presence of Templars hunting down and imprisoning the mages who might turn to Daedra worship, all that might put them off. But there have always been apostates who summon demons, even here. And let's not forget Tevinter. The mages there do what they want. It's not lack of worshippers here. Something else kept them away.”

Now that got Elisif thinking. What did she know of non-Andrastian gods here?

“Tevinter had seven old gods, dragons,” Elisif whispered. “Dovah? They rose as Archdemons when darkspawn found them, and led Blights. They might have been enough to dissuade the Daedra. And the Dalish elves had gods as well, they've been silent for years, sealed away in the Fade, but if they were active once, powerful spirits from the Fade, they could have been a powerful deterrent. Either that or the Thedosians had different names for the Daedra.”

“The names wouldn't be far different,” Madanach murmured. “Daedra are vain. They want their names praised, their real ones. Their real names aren't in Tamrielic, they're in Daedric, they teach their followers the language. If our Daedra were ever worshipped here, the god names would be the same or very similar. They aren't.”

Elisif knew that – Solas had given her the names of the Dalish gods, all the while insisting much of the lore surrounding them was little more than myth, and she'd asked Dorian about the Tevinter old gods, offering all she could remember on the Skyrim Dragon Cult and Dovah in general in return. Dorian had been intrigued enough to help… but none of the names either Solas or Dorian had provided had sounded like any Daedric Prince she knew. Elisif stared at the mark, suddenly wanting answers, wanting to know how she'd sustained a serious magical burn, who'd inflicted it and how to get rid of it. She had a feeling her missing memories would provide the answer.

“So what might steal memories?” Elisif whispered. “I don't think I'm crazy. But Vaermina's Skull of Corruption stole memories and replaced them with nightmares. Madanach, did a nightmare demon get hold of me in the Fade? Is there such a thing?”

“I wouldn't be at all surprised,” Madanach said quietly. “There are demonologists in the mage rebellion who could look into it. Have you had any nightmares? Recurring ones?”

“No,” Elisif whispered. “I mean, not really. Had a few about you since Maia turned up. But nothing weird or obviously Daedric.”

“Which doesn't necessarily mean a nightmare demon wasn't involved,” Madanach growled, not liking this at all. “Dammit Elisif, this whole thing is just wrong. Even if we fix the sky, someone killed the Divine and blew up the Temple. And then there's this Elder One. Corypheus. I haven't heard the name.”

“Someone will have,” Elisif said, snuggling into Madanach's arms. “We'll ask around. Leliana might know people. Josie might even have Tevinter contacts.”

“And I'll ask around the mages – someone will know something,” Madanach promised, pulling blankets over them both. “Come on, rest. We'll need all our strength for this one.”

Elisif knew that all too well… but she wasn't alone any more. Despite all her advisers and new friends, no one knew her quite like Madanach… and now he was back at her side, Elisif suddenly felt her confidence take a boost, as if she'd lost all feeling in a limb, got used to not using it, then suddenly found herself able to use it again. She had her mage husband, and while arcane lore was not unique to Madanach by any means, the ability to unpick a problem like he could was something she'd struggled to replace.

She had it back now. Her source of support, her beloved battlemage, was back in her life, and the sense of responsibility on her shoulders had lifted. With Madanach back, her prospects and hopes were looking very much brighter.

_What if he leaves you for Alistair?_

_He wouldn't do that._

_But if he does?_

_He won't._

He probably wouldn't. In fact Madanach right now was snuggling alongside her with an arm around her and showing no inclination whatsoever to go anywhere. But as Elisif closed her eyes, the memory of Alistair kissing Madanach wouldn't go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Venatori motto translates loosely as 'Mighty Tevinter Great Once More'. It was hilarious back in March/April, it's not so funny now. :/ (I should have gone for Take Back Control.)


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after and the Herald and Husband are reunited - with some people happier for them than others, as comparisons to Andraste and Maferath can't help but surface. But there's an unexpected complication in the presence of a third party, and it's Alistair's plight in particular that inspires Elisif and Madanach to start wondering just what's going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second half of the aftermath. I wrote some gratuitous Alistair showing off in this one. I'm not sorry. :D
> 
> I'm also loving having Madanach and Elisif back together again. They just spark off each other and fire each other up, it's adorable. And between them, they're figuring an awful lot out, but that's competence for you.

Daylight, and Elisif had woken up to Madanach curled round her and very firm indeed evidence that her husband was no longer an old man, and the resulting good morning kiss had ended up adding at least an hour on to their intended getting-up time. But at length, High Queen and Reach-King were finally up and dressed and packed and handing their things over to various Inquisition and mage rebellion people for transport to Haven, and bringing blushes to the faces of just about everyone what with the constant cuddling and groping and kissing and holding hands and giggling and lovesick gazing. 

They did just about manage to stop for long enough to sort out the rift in Redcliffe Chantry, with a little help from Cicero and Bethany Hawke, who'd avoided being arrested, just barely, and was relieved to hear it was all over.

“You mean Alexius is gone?” Bethany gasped. “And… and we're all joining the Inquisition? As free mages?”

Madanach hugged Elisif proudly as Elisif promised this was the case – the Inquisition was backing mage rights if she had anything to do with it.

“I'm not sure Maia would forgive me if I said anything else,” Elisif admitted ruefully, and Bethany smiled, tears in her eyes.

“She's a sweet kid,” Bethany whispered. “I'm so glad she's all right. I was so worried when I heard the news. I'm glad you're back, Madanach. And.. and it's an honour to meet you, your Worship.”

Bethany blushed a little, seeming a bit unnerved to be around the fabled Herald herself, and Elisif reached out to take her hand.

“Please, just Elisif,” Elisif said, really not sure she wanted anyone else calling her that. Certainly not Bethany, if the kids she was looking after were Maia's friends. “You helped care for my daughter, you don't have to stand on ceremony with me.”

“A-all right then,” Bethany said, smiling. “Elisif. It's a pleasure to meet you finally! You do look a lot like Maia. Can you Shout Rifts shut as well?”

Elisif held up her hand, glowing green mark on show, smile fading.

“I don't need to, I have this,” Elisif said grimly, and she nodded at the stone Chantry building they were standing outside. “Come on, shall we sort that rift out?”

Bethany agreed, and between them, the thing was soon dealt with for good, and it was finally time to head home.

The rest of the Inquisition were busily engaged transporting various things of the mages' from the castle back to Haven – Cullen had thoughtfully sent an array of carts and pack animals in the wake of the raiding party, and they'd now arrived to start the vanguard exodus. Eola could be seen organising the transport of an extensive collection of notes and samples, with various nervous mages using telekinesis to get darkspawn blood vials and preserved internal organs into a cart without anyone having to actually touch anything. A few red lyrium samples were getting the same treatment, having first been dipped into a mixture of sand, earth and clay and hard-fired with fire magic so as to stop them magically interfering with anything. 

Most of their friends, however, had already withdrawn to the Inquisition settlement at Lake Luthias, and so after seeing their things onto a cart, Elisif and Madanach mounted their Inquisition-provided horses and rode out to find them.

“Oh, you're camped out here?” Madanach laughed as he finally rode up behind Elisif (he had never been a great horseman) and dismounted, only wincing a little as his feet hit the floor and his thighs raised their objections to having been forced to straddle a horse all morning. “This is where we spent our first night in Thedas. Blackwall was living out in that cabin, he brought us back here to camp because we didn't have anywhere else to go. You got a Deep Roads outpost behind that waterfall which we cleared out – Cicero did the Carta but didn't fancy the darkspawn so guess who had to help out with tha-aat…”

Madanach's voice had trailed off as a figure arose from out of the lake, a carelessly placed towel mercifully hiding the privates at least, but everything else on show and dripping with fresh lake water, as Alistair Theirin shook the grime of imprisonment off at last, grinning in the sunlight as he finally felt like himself again.

And neither Madanach nor Elisif could take their eyes off him.

“Oh my...” was all Elisif could say. Madanach could only make a little noise at the back of his throat, sensing that anything he said right now would just be dangerous for them all. Alistair, cluelessly oblivious to the most powerful couple in at least one continent and aiming for two lost for words, fastened the towel round his waist, took another one off a smiling Leliana, who was definitely admiring him but at the same time not remotely surprised by what she saw. Clearly having been on the same campsite as him throughout the entire Fifth Blight had inured her to seeing Alistair half-dressed.

“Madanach! Hello!” Alistair cried, that gorgeous smile on his face and oh Sithis, the boy had not only bathed, he'd also shaved and had a haircut and this was not good, not good at all, and Madanach couldn't stop himself swiftly glancing at Elisif to make sure she'd not noticed. 

Mercifully, she had not. She was too busy staring at Alistair herself, faint blush on her cheeks, and Madanach calmed down a little on realising he wasn't the only one at least. 

“Hello Alistair,” Madanach said, forcing a smile to his face. “Have you been introduced to Elisif yet? Elisif, this is Alistair, he was in the cell next to mine in Redcliffe. We exchanged stories and I helped him with… symptoms.”

“Madanach used illusion magic to mask the symptoms of the Calling,” Leliana said, approaching with a curious smile on her face. “Very odd, I had no idea that would even work. Fiona was surprised as well when I discussed it with her. Alistair's been suffering for weeks now and yet a simple illusion spell gets rid of the song entirely. And there's no physical effects yet. Surprising.”

“But don't worry, give it time,” Alistair said cheerfully. “It's only a matter of time before bits of me start turning black and falling off. Wonder what'll go first?”

Madanach hadn't heard Elisif make that noise of alarm and sadness in quite some time. 

“How can you joke about something like that!” Elisif cried, and Alistair turned to look at her directly, something in his expression changing, becoming a bit more serious, even as the smile remained.

“Because if I don't joke about it, I'll probably have a complete screaming meltdown and that would just be embarrassing for everyone. As it is, at least illusion spells can help me keep my sanity, and Fiona's kindly organised a rota of mages to refresh them for me. Nice of her, I thought. Must be guilt over being the only Warden to escape it.”

“I'm sure it's more than that,” Leliana told him, and from the thoughtful look on her face, Madanach had a feeling she wasn't just saying that. Leliana suspected something was up. And from the slightly guilty look in Elisif's eyes, she knew something too. Fascinating.

“I'm sure it is too,” Elisif said quietly. “Alistair, how long do you think you've got? Before… before things start really falling apart.”

Alistair shrugged. “Who knows. A few months? Most Wardens usually start making arrangements fairly soon after it starts, but there's as many who put it off for as long as they can. But it's usually not long before things start happening. Black spots appearing on the skin, hair starting to fall out, itching, sores, that sort of thing. The song started a few weeks before the explosion at the Temple, so I guess probably not that long. A few months at best. But I'm sure the Inquisition will do tons and tons of dangerous things, so rather than go into the Deep Roads to die horribly, I've decided to join the Inquisition instead. Er. If you'll have me, that is.”

“Mara, yes,” Elisif whispered in Tamrielic, before blushing and recollecting herself, answering in a language Alistair would actually understand.

“I mean, of course! We'd be honoured to have a hero of the Blight fight with us – another one, that is,” Elisif said, inclining her head at Leliana, who was by now looking very intrigued.

Alistair's face actually lit up and Elisif made that little noise of excitement again, and Madanach honestly couldn't blame her because that smile was just amazing and he could watch it all day, and he was smiling uncontrollably himself.

“What, really?” Alistair gasped. “You'd let me in? Seriously? After everything that happened?” He turned to Madanach, happy but very confused. “But you know! You know what happened! That I walked off during the Blight because I disagreed with Lyra and ended up spending years in the Free Marches wasting my life, and that I still can't have alcohol, and then I couldn't even save my own father and...”

“Bion,” Madanach interrupted, adopting the firm voice he'd used on Argis and Aventus both to stop them worrying before now. “You were young and foolish. We've all been there. You're a bright young man. You've got skills. You should have the chance to make use of them.”

_In the time you've got left,_ Madanach thought but didn't say, and honestly the thought of this sweet young man turning into a rotting corpse before he was even dead bothered him immensely. But there was nothing he could do. Not without his sister and her extensive library of dark magical tomes, encyclopaedic knowledge of blood magic and expensively outfitted magical laboratory. Alistair likely just wouldn't survive long enough for Keirine to help him. All he could do was get Eola to look at Alistair's blood, see if there was anything she could do. She'd helped Felix, although whether Alistair would be so willing to become a werewolf, he didn't know.

Alistair was presently going a very fetching shade of pink and looking shyly at his feet, before nodding.

“Thank you. Both of you.” He turned that smile back on Elisif again, who was just staring blissfully at Alistair, oh dear gods, they were smiling at each other, both of them inadvertently turning dazzlingly beautiful smiles on each other, mutually falling underneath the same spell Elisif had put him under all those years ago, and oh gods this was going to be a disaster, Madanach could feel it. All the more so because he wasn't feeling jealous or angry, he was looking at them both and thinking they were the cutest thing he'd seen since arriving, saving only Maia.

And then Alistair turned back to him, smile still in place and Madanach briefly forgot how to think. It was a polite cough from Leliana that called him back to himself.

“Alistair, you should get dressed. I'm sure it's against protocol to walk around half-naked in front of the Herald. Josie will have a fit.”

“Right, yes, I – I'll see you both later!” Alistair gasped, blushing as he realised he wasn't wearing anything more than a towel and the woman in front of him had been sent by Andraste herself. Hastily withdrawing, he reached for his things and dashed off behind a tree to start getting dressed, Leliana following after and passing items of clothing to him, still smiling – but she did keep glancing back curiously at them both. Wonderful. The Inquisition's super-bright spymaster was figuring it out too. Things were doomed.

“Madanach,” Elisif was saying in Tamrielic. “Madanach? What illusion spell did you use? To – to stop the Calling.”

“Standard shielding spell to deflect outside influences, it wasn't intended for Alistair, it was to shut the red lyrium up. It seemed to stop the Calling too. Why do you ask?”

“A year from now, in that dark future I went to, Alistair looked fine,” Elisif said softly. “No corruption, no marks, no sores, nothing. How can he be having the Calling now, have been dying slowly for weeks now, and still be OK a year from now? He might have been able to hide subtle signs but a year's worth of darkspawn taint? Something's up, Madanach.”

“You think so?” Madanach murmured. His own knowledge of Grey Wardens was a bit scanty, his sources limited to Alistair himself… but Eola might be able to run some experiments on Alistair's blood and compare it with her spawn samples, see if she could work out how fast the taint was spreading. But that a relatively simple perception distortion effect to protect himself had also driven the Calling from Alistair's mind… interesting. He thought back to their conversation last night.

“If this is true, what you're saying implies something is messing with Alistair's head, perhaps making him think he's hearing the Calling but actually he's fine,” Madanach said quietly. “That it started mere weeks before all this kicked off… I don't think that's coincidental. And you lost memories in the Fade, and the most likely cause of that is an encounter with something that can manipulate minds, much like a nightmare demon of Vaermina's.”

“There's a Fade demon behind all this, and it's manipulating Alistair's Calling,” Elisif realised. “I mean, of course, what else would want the Veil destroyed but a demon trapped on the other side? We just need to find out how to stop it. Any ideas?”

Elisif's faith in him was touching, but Madanach could wish non-mages would stop thinking that just because they didn't know a thing, that meant all mages easily would.

“Funnily enough, no, I'm not actually an expert in Daedric lore, Keirine is the one who could really help here, and even her lore specialises in Tamrielic Daedra. I don't know who'd necessarily know about Thedosian ones, I'd need to see if Fiona had anyone who'd know about it.”

“No need, I know a mage who might be able to help,” Elisif said quietly, looking very thoughtful. “But it's worth knowing if it's just Alistair being targeted or if any of the other Wardens are suffering too… apart from the bit where Leliana seemed to think they'd all vanished. Oh no.”

“All of them. Every single Warden in Ferelden??” Madanach said, suspicion shifting into certainty.

“And Orlais,” Elisif admitted. “Blackwall's the only one we know of, he's apparently been out of touch with the rest of the order for months. He doesn't know where they'd all go. But if they've all been hearing the Calling too… no wonder they've all gone. They probably all think they're dying and have gone to do their Wardenly duty in the Deep Roads!”

“No wonder Blackwall was so keen to help us,” Madanach said, feeling horrible at Blackwall stoically suffering in silence all this time. Of course he wouldn't say anything, it was a secret of his order which he wouldn't want to reveal to someone he only just met, not to mention Blackwall was exactly the type to minimise his own suffering for the sake of the group. “Stubborn bastard thought he was dying, wanted to go out doing something heroic, decided to help.”

“Victory or Sovngarde,” Elisif said, sounding rather admiring. “He's a good man. He really won't like hearing this.”

“I can tell him if you like,” Madanach offered. “But maybe we can wait until we've got some hard evidence first, right?”

“Together,” Elisif promised. “We'll do it together. Madanach… Madanach, the Wardens have mages, don't they. Lots of mages?”

“Warden mages have a lot more freedom compared to Circle mages, there's always apprentices who leap at the chance to join,” Madanach said, beginning to realise where this was going. “Fiona was one. The Wardens have plenty of mages, Elisif.”

“Mages who could raise an army of demons,” Elisif whispered, dawning horror in her eyes. “Stendarr have mercy, Madanach, we find the Wardens, I think we might find the demon behind all this.”

“We might,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “Any idea where to look?”

“Alistair might know,” Elisif said, glancing wistfully over at where a by now fully dressed Alistair was chatting to Varric. Seemed like the two of them knew each other somehow.

“Yeah. Alistair,” Madanach said, unable to quite keep the nerves out of his voice as he glanced over at him. “He might know where they might be.”

Sadly for him, without Alistair right there with virtually nothing on distracting her, Elisif noticed. She was staring pointedly at him with her hands on her hips and Madanach realised he'd been rumbled.

“We're friends, that's all,” Madanach said defensively. “You can't spend nearly a week in prison with someone sharing life stories without getting fond of them. Yes he's cute but he's not you!”

“In that future I saw, he kissed you and told you he loved you,” Elisif said, eyes glacial. “You'd turned to him for comfort after I disappeared and somewhere along the line you two turned into a married couple in all but name, so do NOT give me the 'it doesn't mean anything' line, Madanach, because it clearly and blatantly DOES.”

Madanach flinched back from her, justifiably worried about her wrath… or at least he would have been if she'd not immediately backed down. She was still pouting but at least not shouting any more.

“I'm sorry, I just… I only just got you back,” Elisif whispered. “I don't want to lose you!”

“You won't!” Madanach protested. “I didn't have you in that timeline so clearly I turned to the one who was there. I refuse to believe I stopped loving or mourning you, no matter how pretty Alistair is.”

“You didn't,” Elisif said quietly, admitting that at least. “You'd missed me horribly, you were angry at me for abandoning you and leaving you to handle the crisis without me, but you still loved me. You took me back into your arms without a question. And… you died buying time for Dorian to finish his work and get me back here.”

“Good man,” Madanach said quietly, although whether he meant future him or Dorian, he had no idea. He did however owe the young Tevinter a drink for his efforts. But right now, he had a wife to console.

“Listen, Elisif, you're my wife. You're the one who rescued me from Cidhna Mine and who roused her entire Inquisition to come get me when I got captured again,” Madanach said, coming to stand before her, hands on her upper arms. “You're the mother of my child, my companion and beloved these past seven years, even when I was too far gone to know it. I love you more than anyone and always will – I mean, look at you, not only are you beautiful and heroic and brave, you also just worked out what we might be facing. Because you're bright and capable and make good decisions. You're my wife, my lover and my partner and I want you at my side for the rest of my life. I won't deny I'm fond of Alistair, but while he might need illusion magic to fight the Calling, it doesn't have to be me casting the spell. One word from you and I will never waver from your side, I swear it.”

He'd drawn closer as he spoke, one hand on her cheek, the dragon teeth of her crown below his palm but her skin still against his. Elisif closed her eyes and tilted her head, her lips meeting his and no further thoughts passed through Madanach's head for a good few minutes, because he was kissing Elisif and nothing else mattered.

Elisif finally broke off the kiss, taking him into her arms instead.

“Don't you dare leave me after all the trouble I've had to go to save you,” Elisif whispered.

“I won't,” Madanach promised, smiling. A small smile flickered across Elisif's face as she nodded.

“I know,” she said softly. “And… Alistair is rather handsome, isn't he?”

“Yes,” Madanach admitted. “And sweet and vulnerable and he doesn't need you molesting him any more than he does me.”

“And if he does?” Elisif said, glancing over at Alistair again, predatory look in her eyes. Which was… all right, that was rather alluring, and if she didn't stop doing that, he'd likely end up kissing her again, and they'd be here all day. As it is, the sun was going down which meant they'd likely be camping here overnight. Madanach just hoped Alistair kept his clothes on in the meantime, because from the look in Elisif's eyes, she might just snap and haul him back to the tent (that's if the Herald and husband didn't qualify for the bed in the cabin, of course), and then Madanach would be forced to… to… watch. Or join in. Or hold Alistair down while they ravished the poor sweet Andrastian innocent together.

This was not going to end well.

“Then I might not have a problem with that,” Madanach confessed, and there it was. Out in the open, and while it had come up in abstract before now, neither had ever met anyone else they'd fancied, and then had come parenting a small child then his illness and, well, they'd only just found each other. Opening their marriage seemed a bit premature.

But Alistair was there and Alistair was handsome, and possibly Dragonborn, and it appeared neither could quite resist him.

Elisif looked surprised. “What, really? Are you serious? I thought you'd be the possessive type.”

Madanach shrugged. “Maybe. If you're receiving unwanted attentions, believe me, the poor idiot will be learning the error of his ways soon enough. And I am not for a second putting up with anyone who'll treat you badly, or will mistreat Maia. But I'm not getting that off Alistair. He's a good man.”

“Who you fancy,” Elisif said sceptically. “And if he doesn't want you in this timeline?”

“He kissed me and said he loved me, according to you,” Madanach purred, feeling his confidence start to rise. “I think I have as good a chance as anyone. I've certainly got a headstart.”

Elisif promptly smacked his backside, and Madanach was reminded that while his wife hadn't been especially dominant last night, she was still a Dragonborn and at some point, there was a good chance he'd end up being pinned down and nibbled and used in his turn. And if Alistair came into his own under Elisif's mentoring, there might be two of them tormenting him.

Madanach seriously needed some time alone.

“Well, he said I was really pretty and that he could never compete with me… but if it's not a competition, it's not really a problem, is it,” Elisif said sweetly, and by the old gods, Madanach really did love this woman sometimes.

“He may also be Dragonborn,” Madanach added, grinning at the surprise on her face. “He can tell you more, but according to an old legend, the founder of the Theirin line, King Calenhad, did some ritual involving dragon blood and gained the power to forge disunited tribes into the nation of Ferelden. And Alistair is his descendant. And according to Alistair, his father's blood had power – some Tevinter magister was torturing him in a blood magic ritual and Alistair had to mercy-kill him in the end. It was upsetting – I don't think you should ask him about the details necessarily. But dragon blood, Elisif! Here! In Thedas! We found a Southern Dragonborn! You could teach him the Thu'um!”

“You know about the – of course you do,” Elisif sighed. “Yes, it came up in that future – you'd taught him how to close rifts. He wasn't great at it, but that's because you don't know the Thu'um yourself, all your knowledge was secondhand and likely only worked because he was… Kyne help me, he's Dragonborn. Madanach, you really do have a type, don't you?”

Madanach coughed awkwardly and shrugged, smiling hopefully at her. Elisif shook her head and kissed him, taking the opportunity to squeeze his backside again.

“Never mind, it's cute,” Elisif purred. “Darling, you must know Dragonborns don't put up with rivals… but we can tolerate kin. I know I have all the time in the world for a cute young man who does what he's told and is nice to Maia.”

“I think he's all right with kids,” Madanach said, kissing her cheek. “We'll introduce them and see how they get on.”

Elisif nodded and then something else occurred to her.

“Wait. Something else you should know. Might complicate things. Might help. His family.”

“His father and half-brother are dead, Elisif,” Madanach said, confused. “Arl Teagan has a protective interest in him due to Alistair being raised there, but they're not actually kin and if Alistair was happy, I don't think Teagan would interfere. He'll certainly understand if Alistair wants to go off and dedicate himself to the Inquisition.”

“No!” Elisif hissed. “His mother! Alistair doesn't know who she is, because she was never able to raise him herself, but she's not dead and she knows he's her son, I think. And she's here. She'll have an opinion, and honestly we need to reconcile them. He deserves to have his mother!”

A mother. An unexpected complication, but Madanach knew what it was like to have a child and not be able to parent them. Two years of ruling the Reach and knowing he had a fifth child living in the Warrens that could never call him father or Mireen would kill him had left its mark.

“All right, who is she?”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Elisif told him and that… all right, that was – that was unexpected. But there were a lot of mages who'd had children and had them taken away by the Chantry. Fiona likely wasn't the only one with a child out there who knew nothing of her.

The injustice of the Circle system never ceased to fucking horrify him, and every time he thought he'd got used to it, it got worse. Madanach realised that maybe he could do something about that. Kinfinding spells – blood magic, of course, but easy enough to take the blood of a mage who wanted to find a lost child, or just find their kin, and see about locating them. A long-term project but one free mages might want to pursue.

Fiona might be willing to look into it, and it would provide an ideal opportunity to perhaps talk to her about her own son. And so he told Elisif this, wondering what she'd think about reuniting mage families.

“I'd like that,” Elisif said, smiling. “Only I don't know if we've got the resources right now, and we don't know how the rest of Thedas is going to react to free mages. When the Inquisition's got more power, perhaps. And initial efforts are going to have to be retrieving children from orphanages to live with mage parents again, or children who were already in the Circle themselves. Anything else… children who are living in happy families, or families that don't want their mage child back or couldn't afford to raise them...”

“It's a long-term project, I know,” Madanach agreed. “But we can help them. And we can definitely try and reunite Fiona and Alistair. Who knows, if we have the Grand Enchanter herself happily reunited with her hero Grey Warden son, we might get other mages asking questions about their own kin.”

Elisif smiled even harder and kissed him again, and Madanach again felt rational thought fading from his mind. He really had missed her.

And so the sun went down over the Hinterlands, with Madanach and Elisif sitting by a lake, holding hands and kissing until Varric Tethras finally lost patience and insisted they rejoin the rest of the world, and everyone was very excited to meet the Herald of Andraste's husband and make sure he was good enough for her. To which Madanach idly enquired in Thedosian if the Inquisition really needed the dwarf or if he could get away with pitching him over the cliff, which earned him a glare from Elisif and a muttered order to behave. And then Cassandra got properly introduced, and while Cassandra had been all over the idea of Elisif having her husband back, she was less enthusiastic about the reality of the Herald's apostate husband.

“So. You're Madanach,” Cassandra said, folding her arms and staring suspiciously at him.

“Yes. Elisif's husband of seven years. Maia's father. You were with Elisif in the castle, weren't you?” Madanach said carefully, not missing the wariness in Cassandra's eyes.

“I was. I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of Divine Justinia before her death. I co-founded the Inquisition with Leliana and seek to guide it and the Herald. Tell me, Madanach, do you know the story of Andraste?”

Barely. Madanach had had very little time for the Chantry, and everything he heard endeared it to him less and less. 

“She led a rebellion against the Tevinters, freed Southern Thedas but didn't get to finish the job because the Imperium captured and executed her, and her army agreed to terms rather than press the issue?” Madanach offered.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed and she stepped forward, hand on the pommel of her sword.

“She died because her own husband, the leader of her armies, betrayed her out of jealousy and spite. His name was Maferath,” Cassandra said tersely, eyes boring into his as if she suspected him about to do the same to Elisif. “Be warned, Madanach, I have been hearing tales of you now. I am capable of dispelling magic in the same way a Templar can and I am a very capable warrior. Do not think I would not act to protect the Herald.”

Madanach could tell she meant it too, even as Elisif exclaimed Cassandra's name, appalled. Madanach forced his most charming smile to his face and put an arm round Elisif.

“I would never betray her!” Madanach protested. “Without Elisif making me look respectable, everyone thinks I'm some dark magic-wielding barbarian savage!”

“I can't imagine why,” Cassandra said, gaze not faltering. “Do not mistake me, Madanach, I would not act against you without cause… but if there is cause, I will not hesitate in my duty.”

“Spoken like a true Templar,” Madanach said bitterly, and Elisif finally decided enough was enough.

“All right, that's enough, the pair of you. Cassandra, I don't expect you to actually like him, gods know Madanach can be trying sometimes, but he is my husband, he's bringing the mages, whose help we need, and I would like it if my people could show some respect? Which Madanach will return with every courtesy, won't you Madanach.”

“I'll be nice,” Madanach promised, only gritting his teeth a little, and Cassandra grimaced.

“As you wish, Herald. But I will be watching him,” Cassandra said, before taking her leave to go shout at the dinner cooking team.

“Are they all going to be like that?” Madanach sighed.

“Some of them,” Elisif said quietly. “Commander Cullen will probably hate you on sight too. But Josephine will be all right, and you know Leliana now, and Blackwall. And people like Maia. You'll be coming in as her loving and devoted father, be seen taking care of her and not putting people's backs up and people will come round. You'll see.”

“Hope you're right,” Madanach sighed, and then came the welcome sight of Dorian emerging. Dorian, who was definitely cute but just a bit too cocky for Madanach to actually want to commit to a relationship with. Thankfully. No risk of temptation there when Dorian would likely scupper it with one smart remark within five minutes of the conversation starting.

“Hello! You both made it! Oh, and you're together. Together together. How marvellous for you both, do try not to revolt the rest of us, will you? All that romantic happiness is frankly nauseating.”

Yes. Like that. Madanach rolled his eyes.

“And this, Dorian, is why you are single,” Madanach sighed. “Elisif, I'd apologise for him but you know what he's like.”

“I do,” Elisif said with a smile, stepping forward and greeting Dorian with a hug. He looked a bit surprised but returned it awkwardly. “Hello Dorian. How are you doing? Are you sticking around or following the Alexiuses to Denerim?”

“I'm not entirely sure Tevinter mages are exactly popular with the Fereldan Crown right now,” Dorian said delicately. “I mean, Anora seems rather taken with Felix but I'm not sure it'd be a good idea for me to be there. I'll write when things are more settled of course, but for now I'll just give him some space. And as for going back to Tevinter, I'm not exactly welcome there at the moment.”

Madanach could hardly wait to hear the story behind that one.

“What did you do?” Elisif asked, raising an eyebrow. “I know you were here trying to stop the Venatori, which is great, but I didn't know you couldn't go back?”

“My family are annoyed with me,” Dorian said, shrugging. “Something to do with me refusing to go along with their idyllic plan, get married to the girl they'd picked, and live in luxurious despair for the rest of my life, the two of us hating each other while I waited to take my father's place in the Magisterium. Needless to say, I said no, left, and then found out about Alexius's terrible life choices and realised I had to help.”

“I'm glad you did,” Elisif said softly, patting his arm and Madanach decided he could agree with that at least. Besides, something in Dorian's airy manner seemed off. As if he was joking and laughing to distract from the pain. Leaving everything behind couldn't have been easy.

“Same here,” Madanach admitted. “Thank you for saving Elisif. I – we are both grateful. Thank you.” He put his arm round Elisif and cuddled her. 

“Oh, don't thank me,” Dorian said, waving off the praise. “I saw what it was like, I was saving myself as much as you. But as it is, I find myself back here with my options limited, so seeing as the South is so much prettier than I thought and I adore it to tiny little pieces, I thought I might stick around for a bit. Help the Inquisition out. What do you say?”

Madanach glanced at Elisif, but Elisif didn't seem bothered – pleased if anything. 

“We'd love to have you here!” Elisif laughed. “Welcome aboard!” This was followed by another Nordic bear-hug, which left Dorian looking most uncomfortable, staring anxiously over Elisif's shoulder as he patted her back awkwardly.

“That's marvellous, old thing, I'm very happy to be here, only in Tevinter we have this thing about personal space and not touching people outside our families – is all this affection strictly necessary?”

Elisif let him go, pouting. 

“It's what you do with your friends back home,” Elisif said, confused, but she did step back and let him go. Dorian looked relieved and understanding in equal measure.

“Ahhh. That explains it! You have genuine friendship back home! Your culture isn't entirely built on knives and poison hidden behind polite smiles! It must be marvellous. Probably completely uncivilised, but I'm sure that just adds to the charm.”

Madanach leaned in to whisper to Elisif.

“We need to invite him back to Skyrim, drop him off in the middle of the tundra, ride for Solitude, see how long it takes him to get there and what sort of state he's in when he turns up, it'll be hilarious.”

“Stop it,” Elisif whispered, but she was smiling so clearly she wasn't completely smitten with Dorian. Madanach would just have to make sure he didn't rise up out of any mountain lakes with his kit off, but due to the cold temperatures and Dorian's utter contempt for physical discomfort, this seemed unlikely. Fortunately. 

“I don't know what you two are saying, but I'm nearly certain it's at my expense,” Dorian said, folding his arms. “I am personally wounded, and also deeply concerned that not only will the two of you be engaging in disgustingly sweet displays of unseemly affection the whole time, you have your own private language in which to do it. Appalling.”

“Hardly private, Cicero, Borkul, Eola, Liriel and Maia also understand it,” Madanach said, and Elisif nodded.

“There's nothing stopping you learning,” Elisif told him. “Maia might help. She likes you.”

“Ah yes. Maia. Sweet. Courteous. Unable to lie convincingly. Yes, she's perfect. I will ask her to translate.” Dorian seemed very pleased with himself over this and set off to join the rest of the Inquisition, who were now starting to serve dinner.

“He can't just suborn our baby!” Madanach protested, and Elisif just shook her head and took his arm.

“Perhaps you shouldn't lapse into Tamrielic when other people are in the conversation then,” Elisif said pointedly as she steered him away, and Madanach subsided. He supposed she had a point. The Inquisition were probably going to be suspicious enough as it was, no need to add to their paranoia.

So he followed Elisif, deciding to play nice for now at least. They'd be leaving for Haven properly tomorrow, and soon after that, he'd see Maia again. Poor thing, she must be worried sick. And that reminded him it wasn't just his life on the line. He supposed he'd have to work with these people then. Just long enough to fix things then get home.

He had a feeling that it wouldn't be that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It never is, Madanach. It never is.
> 
> Next chapter, it's back to Haven! Where Maia's been having some adventures in the meantime.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Haven, and with the Herald away, little Maia's missing her mother terribly. And despite the best efforts of the adults around her, a new arrival puts a definite damper on things. Meanwhile Elisif's on her way home, but she's beset with distractions in the form of one Alistair Theirin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's back to Haven, where we see how Maia's been getting on. And we also have the final member of the Inquisition Inner Circle turning up - Vivienne's here! I didn't think I'd like writing her but I do. I still don't agree with her but I do understand her... and the nice thing about Vivienne is that she is persuadable. But that's for later.

So far things hadn't gone too badly. There'd been a few nightmares, and a few tears, and Maia was definitely clinging to her and avoiding the other children in Haven, but honestly Liriel felt it could have been a lot worse.

Except Maia was now refusing to go outside Haven's gates. Liriel needed to put in an order at the smithy for some proper light armour and a sword and a bow and arrows, because damned if she was going up against Templars in her mage robes ever again. And Maia had been following along just happily, right up until they got to the gates and now she was clinging to Liriel and refusing to move.

“NOOOOO!!!!” Maia wailed. “Noooo, I don't want to, I don't want to!”

“Darling,” Liriel whispered, dropping to her knees and trying to comfort the screaming child, well aware of Seggrit the dodgy storekeeper and a few passing agents of Leliana's and some sour-faced Chantry sisters all glaring at her as if this was her fault.

“I don't wanna!” Maia sobbed. “There's Templars out there!”

Ah. The root of the problem. Maia had developed a phobia of Templars – honestly, Liriel really couldn't fault the little one there – and now that Mama wasn't here, and Cicero wasn't here either, Maia didn't want to go out there where Cullen's Templars were training. Clearly Liriel's protection wasn't enough, not if Liriel's only protection was the magic they could switch off.

Liriel thought hard about this one, because she saw the problem, she really did, and she also had a very personal and pressing interest in solving it, but to do that she needed to visit the smithy, but to do that she needed to go outside, the very place Maia was scared of. She needed armour. And a proper sword. Armour and a proper sword…

Elisif might be a little bit cross with her for this, but seeing as it was to stop little Maia from being upset, it was in a good cause, right?

“Would it help if I got some armour and a weapon, in case they attack?” Liriel whispered, lowering her voice. Maia subsided but still didn't look happy.

“But… but there's lots of them! And they've… they've got better armour!” Maia whispered. “What if you get hurt?”

“Hopefully it will not come to that,” Liriel promised. “But I don't need to fight them all by myself. I just need to give them pause and hold them off until Blackwall or the Chargers turn up. They won't stand for a little girl being hurt.”

Maia stopped sniffling, looking amazed… and then she seized on the obvious.

“But you don't have any armour. Or a sword.”

“No,” Liriel admitted. “But your mother does. She took her good set with her, and Dawnbreaker, but she didn't plan on facing any dragons and the Hinterlands is warmer than here, so she left her Avvar coat and Dragonbane here. I could borrow them.”

“Without asking?” Maia gasped. “But that's not allowed!”

“She's not here,” Liriel pointed out. “And I'll put them back after. And if I tell her it was to help make sure you were all right, I don't think she'll mind.”

Maia still didn't look at all sure about this, but eventually she nodded warily. And so it was Liriel was wrapped up warm in Elisif's coat, with Dragonbane at her waist, leading Maia out into the outskirts of Haven.

Sure enough, the Templars out there spared Maia not a second glance, in fact it looked like a squad of them under Captain Rylen were painting their shields and cuirasses black.

“What are they doing?” Maia whispered.

“Don't know,” Liriel whispered back. “Shall we ask?”

Maia shook her head and hid behind Liriel, but it was too late. Rylen had seen them and made his way.

“Good morning, Mistress Liriel,” he said cheerfully, apparently using titles of respect for an adult unmarried woman regardless of her being an elf, which was nice of him. A lot of other Haveners didn't seem to know what to make of her. “And little Maia too! Good to see you both out and about.”

Maia just made a little meeping noise, tightening her grip on Liriel's clothes as she stared up at Rylen. Liriel patted her head and decided she might as well ask him about the painting of the armour.

“Oh, that?” Rylen said, shrugging. “Well, we're not really Templars any more, are we, we're all Inquisition now, right? And if all goes well, we're going to have the mage rebellion turning up here, and we've not had the best of history with them. We thought it might go better if we painted over the Templar symbol. When the undercoat's done, we might put an Inquisition sign on there instead.”

Maia had slowly emerged as he said this, eyes widening in surprise, and Rylen saw this and knelt down, gentle smile on his face as he winked at the little girl.

“That, and a little bird told me the Herald's little girl was frightened of Templars after some ar- after some nasty people in the armour took a swing at her and her daddy. I don't know about the rest of the Order who didn't come to join us here, but I joined up to protect people from magic, I never signed up for murdering children.”

Rylen's expression had darkened as he spoke, clearly furious at the way the rogue Templars had so completely forsaken their intended role, but it didn't put Maia off. In fact she was actually beaming at him.

“You're not going to make us all join Circles?” Maia whispered. “You're not going to send me away or hurt Daddy?”

“Ah, well,” Rylen coughed. “That's not my decision, that's down to the next Divine. If we ever get another one. But I can promise you and your dad are safe. We're not letting anything happen to the Herald's family, don't you worry.”

“Suzette doesn't deserve to be locked away either,” Maia whispered. “And Gerrard misses his mama and papa. And Lucy's family only let her go cos they didn't have enough money for six children.”

“Aye,” Rylen said gravely. “And from what I know of the Herald, she'll do her best to make sure that they're cared for. I get the feeling she tends to get her way more often than not.”

That was something Maia had no problem agreeing with.

“Mama can do anything!” Maia announced cheerfully, and that did make Rylen laugh.

“Aye, no doubt,” he said, getting up. “Well, I'll leave you both be, you no doubt have important errands to run. Good day, serah. Take care, little one.”

Maia waved bye bye to Rylen, phobia not exactly cured but certainly managed, and Liriel revised her opinion of these humans. They clearly weren't as unreasonable as she'd initially thought. Rylen wasn't, anyway. Some of the others still called her 'knife-ear' when they thought she couldn't hear them, but some of them then found articles of their clothing spontaneously combusting, or snow on a nearby rooftop suddenly melting and falling on top of them, so Liriel found she could live with it.

“Hey! Tam!”

It took Liriel a few seconds to remember Iron Bull was referring to her. He'd seemed intrigued by her from the outset, keen to get to know her, wondering what she was, surprised to find out she was an elf and not a Vashoth cross-breed, and perturbed to hear about a land across the sea ruled by High Elven mages. Liriel wondered if she should have mentioned Alinor, especially now she knew he was a Ben-Hassrath, but she'd not told him the actual location, just that it existed. Let the Qunari waste time trying to find it, the Thalmor had ways of protecting their homeland.

But Bull had seemed friendly and curious and he'd told her about Par Vollen in return, and told her she'd have made a good Tamassran. She'd had to ask what one of those was, and it turned out it was the caste of high-ranking mostly-females who planned the Qunari breeding programme, raised and educated the children communally, decided their future careers, and had a specialised wing dedicated to providing sexual services so Qunari not presently being involved in breeding didn't get frustrated. 

He'd very quickly clarified that wasn't the function he'd been thinking of in regards to her, because when Liriel got annoyed, little lightning sparks started flickering around her head, hands and shoulders in a mini-lightning cloak, and Cicero on his other side had immediately started laughing nervously and whispering to Bull that he should not talk of such things to Liriel, she was a respectable elf from a good family and did not need to know of such base matters, and while Bull hadn't really seen why a person's social class affected their sexuality, he'd got the point. 

“No, it's just because you're commanding and tough and you don't take crap from anyone, and you're tall too with ears a bit like ours, and if it weren't for the magic, you'd fit right in. Heck, even with magic, you'd still be good at it. You could look after the mage kids.”

It had mollified Liriel, and on inquiring as to whether her not having horns would be a problem, Liriel had been delighted to learn that there were hornless Qunari, and they were the most terrifying of all.

Liriel was fairly certain she did not want to live under the Qun unless it sorted out its approach to magic – really, was there ANYONE on this side of the world who had anything remotely approaching a sensible approach to the arcane? - but she did have to admit that the Qun's organisation and efficiency had a certain appeal, and her ego quite liked the idea of being able to tell big, burly Qunari men what to do with impunity because every single one was in thrall to the Tamassrans. Bull certainly seemed to instinctively stand to attention if she pitched her voice in just the right way.

So Tam, short for Tamassran, it was then.

“Iron Bull,” Liriel purred, sauntering over to the tent while Maia wandered off, her attention caught by something. Liriel wasn't too worried, there were enough people around to stop her doing anything dangerous. “How goes it?”

The Iron Bull was sitting outside his tent, poking at the fire, seeming pleased to see her. 

“All the better for seeing you, Tam,” Bull said, grinning. “Take a seat, join me. How's it been, keeping an eye on the mini-Herald? She seems like a good kid.”

“She is,” Liriel said, smiling at Maia, who was off collecting elfroot. “She's a sweet little thing. Misses her parents, worried about her daddy, and she's avoiding the other kids in town… but she seems happy enough other than that.”

“She's not keen on the other kids?” Bull asked, surprised. “She seemed fine with us on the way back, and she talked about the friends she'd made in Redcliffe and her older siblings. She's not an unsociable kid, Liriel.”

He'd used the proper first name. That meant he was being serious for once.

“She won't tell me much, but the first day after Elisif left, she went out to play but came back barely half an hour later quiet and withdrawn, and wanting to stay inside and read instead,” Liriel sighed. “So I've kept an eye on her. I think the other kids are picking on her while her mother's back is turned. She's a mage and not an Andrastian, I think they're reacting like the adults would like to. She's tiny, Bull, and she's suffered enough. But I can't do a lot. Not by myself. At least some of the adults are being kind. She's not scared to come out here any more, that's something.”

“It is,” Bull said, glancing down at the fire. “Good idea of Rylen's to paint over the Templar emblem. If she can learn to see people and not the armour, she'll be fine.”

“If everyone else could look past the magic and see the little girl, she'd be even better,” Liriel said, eyes narrowing. If this was how the child of a respected, even idolised, hero was treated, how did anyone else fare?

Thankfully, Maia seemed to be coping, in fact right now she seemed fairly cheerful as an excited squeal hit the air, and Maia called to Liriel.

“LIRIEL! LIRIEL! WHAT'S ONE OF THEM?”

She was pointing at a pink, hairless creature with ridiculous ears scampering off into the bushes, looking absolutely fascinated. It looked a bit like a furless rabbit, but frankly it could be anything.

“I don't know, darling, why don't you ask Blackwall?”

Blackwall was standing outside the smithy, watching with no little amusement as Maia ran over to him, hoping for answers.

“It's a nug,” Blackwall told her. “They dig burrows, eat plants, breed like… they have lots of babies. And lots of things eat them.”

Maia wailed at that, pouting, and Liriel made a note to tell Elisif and Madanach to make sure no one served Maia any meal involving nugs.

“Are they friendly?” Maia whispered. “Do they hurt people?”

That made Blackwall laugh even harder. 

“Do they hurt people… No, little one. They're harmless. Might nip if you poke them. That's about it.”

Maia gasped in delight, before running back to Liriel.

“Liriel, can I have a pet nug? Please? Pretty please? PLEEEAAASSSSSSE?”

“Maia...” Liriel sighed, feeling a headache coming on, before she remembered this wasn't her problem. “You need to ask your mother and father. I can't get you a nug. When they get back, hmm?”

Maia looked a bit downcast on learning she'd have to wait, but she nodded cheerfully and announced she was going to try and make friends with some nugs, just in case.

“You do that, little princess,” Bull said as he and Liriel watched her run off and kneel in the snow, looking determined. It was very cute to watch… until Bull realised she was starting to radiate magic.

“Wait,” Bull said, alarmed. “What's she doing?”

Liriel frowned, watching the little girl… and detected a low-level wide-area illusion effect, not terribly strong but covering some distance and with the effect of making the caster look friendly and harmless. 

“Befriending the nugs,” Liriel told him, looking on with pride as slowly but surely, nugs started to emerge, first one, then another, then two more, then a group, then a mother and babies, and before long there were about twenty of them, a good portion of Haven's nug population swarming a delighted Maia, who was laughing and squealing and cuddling all the ones she could reach.

“That is not normal,” Bull said, still looking wary, but Liriel ignored him. This was cute, seeing a little five year old playing with the nugs, and never mind Thedosian fear of magic. Half the smithy had downed tools, as had half of Cullen's troops, all staring in disbelief at the little girl with her own gang of nugs. But more than a few of them were smiling, and quite honestly, it was adorable, watching Maia beaming at the nugs and feeding them elfroot.

And then a powerful dispelling enchantment swept through the air, causing all the nugs to sit up and start squeaking… and then another spell followed, a fear spell of some sort that caused all the nugs to shriek and scatter. Liriel got to her feet immediately, knowing that there was another mage here – maybe two other mages? - and they'd reacted to the idea of a little girl playing with nugs with outrage.

“Maia?” Liriel called, suddenly wanting Maia back near her and away from… whoever this was.

She turned out to be a woman riding into Haven on the back of a pure white mare that was clearly an expensive thoroughbred, with a long wagon train behind her consisting of carts piled high with books, chests, magical artefacts, and alongside the guards and drivers were a large-ish number of mages. The woman herself had a staff at her back, thigh-high boots with heels, a tight-fitting low-cut outfit in shiny grey silks with a collar almost wider than her shoulders, dark skin with fine cosmetics expertly applied, and a hat with two horns – horns! - arching delicately into the air. 

From the way she was staring coldly down at Maia, Liriel had a feeling this was not the mage rebellion, not that Liriel remembered seeing anyone like her in Redcliffe. And if she wasn't from there… there was only one mage ensemble with any real presence and a leader given to the high fashions of Orlais.

Enchanter Vivienne had brought the Loyalist mages to Haven.

“Apprentice,” Vivienne sniffed, faint air of disgust on her face as if Maia had urinated in front of her, “I don't know what your Circle taught you, but if they failed to instil the message that magic is not a toy and NOT to be played with in front of non-mages, then they're even more lacking in sense than the malcontents in Redcliffe. That's if you ever were part of a Circle, of course. Well, no matter. Your magical education can still be corrected. Who is looking after you?”

Maia was clutching Frogella, staring up at Vivienne in mute terror, and Liriel realised she could hardly abandon the poor terrified little thing.

“She's with me,” Liriel said, drawing herself up to her full height as she approached Vivienne. “I'm taking care of her until her parents return. You will not upset her.”

Vivienne's look of surprise was unfortunately too brief for Liriel's liking, and the sneer returned all too quickly.

“Some sort of Tal-Vashoth mercenary, I presume?” Vivienne said, raising an expertly manicured eyebrow. “One of their apostate mages? May I ask why human parents would entrust the wellbeing of their child to you? I suppose with the Circles moribund, they felt they had no choice but to bring in outside help to train their mage child.”

Liriel held in her true feelings with difficulty, in fact the only thing stopping her summoning a bound sword deep in the chest of the woman's horse was that the horse didn't deserve it, and killing such a fine mount without cause would be a crime against Auriel.

“Maia's father requires very little in the way of outside help in training his daughter,” Liriel said, meeting Vivienne's gaze without flinching, refusing to let this human get to her. “Given that his sister is the equivalent of the Grand Enchanter in their homeland, it's rare he has to outsource anything arcane… but he's busy, and as a trusted retainer of the family, it falls to me to ensure his daughter is taken care of in his absence. Believe me, any unwanted interference and I will deal harshly with the offender, and I will not be the one who ends up facing censure. Her parents are nobles, Enchanter Vivienne.”

A flicker of annoyance in Vivienne's eyes and Liriel knew she'd got her at least a bit. Vivienne clearly was not pleased that this random mage who wasn't even human knew who she was and wasn't cowed.

“I see,” was all Vivienne said. “In that case, kindly train your charge not to waste their magic on frivolous shows of power that could frighten ordinary people. Maybe now it is only nugs she is luring to worship her, but one day have you considered she might use her powers to lure humans into worshipping at her feet? If you were never taught the commandment regarding magic, I'm sure the Chantry priests here will enlighten you.”

Liriel decided she'd had quite enough of this annoying woman and reached for Maia's hand.

“If Maia ever does end up with her own cult of adoring worshippers, she will only be following in the footsteps of her non-mage mother!” Liriel snapped. “And I'm not taking advice on how to live my life from someone who _lost!_ Come on, Maia, we're leaving. I'm sure the Enchanter needs to find a place for all her people and the seventeen chests containing her personal shoe collection.”

Liriel turned and strode off back to Haven itself, leaving Vivienne staring after her, wondering who the non-mage mother with her own cult was, then staring at a little red-headed girl and slowly piecing the situation together.

“Enchanter?” one of Vivienne's mages ventured to ask. “Er, are you all right?”

“Yes,” Vivienne said curtly, although as if she'd answer otherwise, honestly. “Only I am starting to wonder if the Herald of Andraste is as sensible as I thought. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps we've arrived just in time. I fear she may be under some terrible influences. Or… worse.”

“What do you mean, Enchanter?” another mage, this one a young elven woman, asked. 

“I think that was her little girl,” Vivienne said quietly. “Her mage child. With a mage father, and a powerful mage aunt and a homeland where being the Grand Enchanter gives one real political power. A homeland I have never heard of, where they have Tal-Vashoth retainers. If she even is a Tal-Vashoth.”

“What else would she be, Enchanter?” the confused young elf asked.

“I don't know,” Vivienne said, riding over to the stables and preparing to dismount. “But I intend to find out.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Liriel had practically dragged Maia back into Haven, too angry to speak, just wanting to find something and burn it, burn it all until she was no longer confronted with irritating human mages who thought they were so special and yet _supported_ the idea of locking mages up and stopping innocent little girls from having fun… Liriel had to stop and breathe before something actually did catch fire. As it was, the lightning in her aura was visible and literally everyone in her path had gasped and fled.

Liriel rubbed the bridge of her nose, her sinuses aching. Daedra take them all. This country was truly getting to her. 

“Trouble?”

One person at least had not fled, the smiling bald mage of mysterious origins who Liriel wasn't sure if she liked or not. Solas, looking amused at her discomfort.

“We have a new arrival,” Liriel growled, deciding that whatever her personal feelings about Solas, he'd sympathise on this one. “Tell me, have you heard of Enchanter Vivienne?”

Solas's smile faded as he nodded once. Apparently he had.

“The leader of the Loyalist mages, such as they are. What of her?”

“She's here,” Liriel said, gritting her teeth. “She's joined the Inquisition and...”

“Liriel, wait for me!” Maia wailed, staggering after Liriel, who'd been too annoyed to recall there was a little five year old struggling to keep up with her. Feeling contrite, Liriel turned and knelt down, holding out a hand to Maia as she ran over for a cuddle.

“Liriel, I don't like her!” Maia cried, pouting as she clung on to the elf. Liriel entirely sympathised.

“I don't like her either,” Liriel soothed. “She's not a nice person.”

“Oh dear,” Solas said, crouching down next to Maia and smiling at her. “Enchanter Vivienne's made an impression already, has she?”

“She's a wicked witch!” Maia cried. “She's mean and horrible and I don't like her!”

“Maia was using illusion magic to charm nugs because they're cute and she likes them,” Liriel explained. “Vivienne apparently disapproved because she dispersed the nugs and told Maia off, and me for allowing it. Apparently magic should not be used in such frivolous ways, it's in breach of the commandment.”

Solas growled, the grimace on his face telling both of them his opinion of the Andrastian commandment regarding magic.

“And we have to put up with her in close quarters for however long the Inquisition lasts, wonderful,” Solas sighed. “Well, we cannot assassinate her, they will suspect us and even if we escape, it will just make things harder for free mages as all take the blame. Also mere unpleasantness isn't justification for murder. All we can do is lie low, keep out of her way and wait for the Herald's return. It is after all her call as to what the Inquisition's position on mage rights is.”

“Mama wouldn't lock up mages!” Maia cried. “Mama's nice!”

“Yes she is,” Solas said, smiling. “She's a genuinely caring person. But she might not get her way. She's not the unquestioned ruler of the Inquisition and the Inquisition's not all-powerful.”

“Well she should be!” Maia snapped, sulking. “She'd let me play with nugs!”

She probably would. Madanach certainly would. Liriel personally couldn't see the harm in it. But whether Elisif would be allowed to declare the Inquisition all in favour of mage freedom remained to be seen.

Liriel hoped it worked out though. In the meantime, she needed to keep Maia safe until Elisif returned with Madanach and the mage rebellion, and away from Vivienne.

“Well, she's not here,” Liriel said. “But she won't be long, I don't think. We'll wait til she gets back, and then we'll see.”

Maia pouted up at Liriel and Solas but even a little girl could see they didn't have much choice. But she had faith in her mother. Mama wouldn't let Vivienne hurt the mages. Mama could do anything. Mama would make them see.

Following after Liriel, Maia clutched Frogella and whispered to the little frog that Mama would make everything right. Mama always did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

On the way back to Haven, and Elisif had been delighted to be reunited with her trusty Fereldan Forder, eager to go for a ride. 

“Gods, but it feels like forever since I last went riding!” Elisif sighed, patting her horse's shoulder. “Madanach, there's a horse for you, come ride with me – oh.”

Madanach paused in the act of climbing in the back of the carriage that already had Borkul, Varric and Dorian in it, glancing guiltily back at her.

“Ah. I, er, was thinking… I'm still sore from yesterday?” Madanach admitted. “I was thinking we'd get to cuddle…”

 _But I wanted to ride…_ Elisif couldn't stop the disappointment at not getting to share a fine day on horseback with her husband from showing, even as it occurred to her he'd never been keen on riding and she'd attributed it to age and infirmity… but he'd been raised a city boy, the Reach wasn't great riding country and the Forsworn lacking in horses, it was entirely possible he just wasn't any good at it or hated it or both…

It occurred to Elisif she'd just never asked how he felt and he'd probably been too proud to admit he wasn't very good at horseriding. She'd thought he'd been riding slowly yesterday.

And then Dorian saved what was shaping up to be an awkward moment.

“Maker's sake, Madanach, you can cuddle her all you like once you get back to Haven. Behind closed doors. Where we don't have to see it. Honestly, all this _affection._ You're married! It's unseemly.”

Madanach sighed and turned his attention to the squirming Tevinter alongside him, who was looking vaguely nauseated.

“What in the Void would you know about married life, Pavus, you turned down a life of luxury to avoid it.”

“Yes, yes I did, and now I'm here with marital bliss thrust into my face whether I like it or not,” Dorian said, shuddering. “You want to spend all day making cow-eyes at Elisif, you get yourself a horse and do it.”

Stark staring horror in Madanach's eyes and Elisif took pity on her husband.

“Oh, don't worry darling, I'll survive,” Elisif told him. “I mean, we can cuddle tonight, right? Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I think Cassandra's got a horse as well, she could keep me company.”

“Who's keeping who company? With a horse? They're not very talkative, you know. Talk to me instead, I never shut up.” 

Elisif felt her breath catch in her throat as her bones promptly turned to jelly and all sorts of thoughts utterly unbefitting of a married mother and queen starting rampaging through her head. Alistair Theirin had just turned up and Elisif was already having flashbacks to him dripping wet and half-naked, complete with fantasies of kissing him very firmly and dragging him into the undergrowth to rut until neither could physically move, and dear gods, why did she have a feeling he could ride and ride well?

Slowly, she turned around to see him standing there, hazel eyes brimming with amusement and oh gods he was smiling. No no no, he needed to not do that! She was married, she had a little girl, a husband, this was a terrible idea, he needed to _not smile at her._ Or she'd throw caution and all Mara's teachings to the wind and drag him off somewhere.

“There you go, Elisif, problem solved, go riding with Alistair instead!” Madanach was calling, and he knew, the bastard _knew_ what Alistair did to her. Sure enough, he was leaning back in the back of the carriage, smirking at her. Bastard. 

But she couldn't tell him off in front of everyone, not without completely giving herself away, so all she could do was grit her teeth and keep smiling.

“I… guess that means we'll be riding ahead together,” Elisif said, trying her best to sound lighthearted. “I hope you don't mind?”

“Mind? I… no, I – I don't mind at all,” Alistair stammered, laughing nervously and scratching the back of his neck, lightly-tan skin staining red, and Elisif didn't know whether it was a good thing or not that she was affecting him too. On the whole, she rather thought she'd have preferred him casually oblivious. But as it was, he was reacting to her too, and she was finding it just adorable.

Mara have mercy. This was too much. But she couldn't get out of it which was why she found herself riding alongside him, out in front of the main convoy… and despite Alistair cheerfully proclaiming that he never shut up, he'd gone quiet as the hours passed.

“Are you all right?” Elisif whispered. They were riding through dense forest, the trees leaning together over their heads, blotting out the sunlight and lending the illusion of isolation. And Alistair was looking very pensive.

“Hmm? Oh, right. Just… lost in thought, that's all.”

Elisif didn't miss the shiver as he glanced at the shadows, and she realised what might be bothering him.

“Is it the Calling?” she asked softly. “Should we drop back, find Madanach?”

“No!” Alistair gasped. “I mean, no, I – no, it's fine. I mean, yes it was the Calling, no I don't need Madanach.”

Elisif felt her heart go out to him. The poor man really did need a cuddle. She wondered if she should tell him her suspicions. She and Madanach had decided not to say something until they had more information. But Alistair was suffering, and Elisif wished she could do something to help.

“Tell me about the Reach,” Alistair said suddenly. “Or… no, your kingdom's Skyrim, isn't it? Or is it Tamriel – no, Tamriel's the continent, right? Or the Empire – does the Empire cover the entire continent?”

He knew about Tamriel. Well, Madanach did say he'd told him their story. Hard to do that without mentioning the fact you lived in a whole other continent. Elisif couldn't help but feel uneasy… but in all honesty, it had to come out sooner or later and there was something about Alistair. He just seemed trustworthy. Accepting. Not denouncing them all as heathens, but genuinely fascinated by the whole concept of a new land. The young man who'd fearlessly gone to fight darkspawn in his youth had grown up into a man who'd happily go adventuring in his adult life if need be.

“It used to,” Elisif admitted. “But not any more. The home of the High Elves, the Summerset Isles, broke off, took over Valenwood and Elsweyr and formed the Aldmeri Dominion. Black Marsh, that's where the Argonians live, had broken off some time before that. Morrowind, that's the land of the dark elves, that seceded as well. It's just Cyrodiil, Skyrim, High Rock and the Reach now. The human nations – most of them. We don't have Hammerfell any more either.”

A soft chuckle came from Alistair, who sounded a little disbelieving.

“The human nations. The way you say that – as if there's any other kind. Well, Orzammar, I suppose, but it's just one city. And Par Vollen but virtually no outsiders ever go there. You talk of non-human nations as if you could just visit or trade with them.”

“We can,” Elisif said, feeling for him in that moment, hearing the wistfulness in his voice, the longing for something different. Anything other than what he'd ended up with. She could hardly blame him. “I mean, you can visit Morrowind, I've been a couple of times. It was quite the adventure – the first time anyway. Second time was an actual diplomatic mission, it seemed to go well? House Redoran like me, anyway. And the Telvannis have been itching to get their hands on Reach-lore. Sorry, those are the two leading noble houses in Morrowind, Redoran are warrior types who run the country mostly, but the Telvannis are gifted mages. The whole place is… strange. But they're not bad people. I could work with them, I think. And Black Marsh is visitable too, but it's a long journey. It's even possible to get into the Dominion, but it's hard. To go lawfully and openly anyway, but there's people in Valenwood or among the Khajiit who could smuggle you across the border.”

“You have completely lost me and I'm going to need a map,” Alistair admitted, but Elisif didn't miss the wistful smile on his face. “But it sounds fascinating. I don't suppose I'll ever see the place.”

Elisif was already mentally listing amazing wonders of Tamriel to herself, from the cathedral of Mara in Cheydinhal, to the Throat of the World, to the Solitude Arch, to the Winterhold Shrine of Azura, to the Adamantine Tower, to the Red Mountain, to the Imperial City itself. And she wanted to show Alistair all of them.

“You never know,” Elisif said quietly. “You don't know what might happen. But if we all survive this, I'll take you to see Tamriel.”

Alistair's startled smile was a joy to behold. 

“What, really?” he gasped. Elisif nodded.

“Really,” Elisif promised. “So don't die on me.”

“I will try not to let the Blight corruption overwhelm me before I get to see the place,” Alistair told her, broad grin on his face, and Elisif had to look away before the blushing became obvious.

“Come on,” she whispered. “We can't be far from Haven now.”

“We're not,” Alistair said. “It's only a few miles now. I've been here before, remember? Lyra and I found the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

Elisif looked guiltily away, remembering there was no Temple any more.

“It must have looked amazing,” Elisif said, and the sadness in her voice reminded Alistair he was coming back to a vastly changed place.

“Is there anything left of the place?” Alistair asked, good humour vanishing as he too recalled the story of a Breach in the sky, demons, the Divine dead and the Temple he'd discovered destroyed.

“No,” Elisif admitted. “It's ruined. Completely destroyed, and the sky...” She fell silent, deciding the Breach was something he'd have to see for himself.

“I see,” was all Alistair said, the grimness in his voice a stark contrast to his usual cheeriness. He could laugh in the face of his own demise, but not the wholesale slaughter the Breach had wrought. “And we don't know who was behind it?”

“No,” Elisif said quietly. “But the Venatori worshipped this Elder One. Corypheus, I think they called him. Might be him. I'm sure they're involved somehow. I just need proof. Or information on where they are.”

“You don't remember?” Alistair said, surprised. 

“No,” said Elisif. “They say I fell out of a Fade rift, but I don't remember any of it. Madanach wonders if something in the Fade stole the memories.”

Alistair nodded, looking sympathetic and at the same time, worried. 

“Demons might do that. They can do all sorts of weird things to your brain if you let them. Not that you'd let one… but if you were in the Fade you might not have had a choice. I say, er… are you really all right? Because ending up _physically in the Fade,_ which by the way shouldn't be possible under normal circumstances, ended really really badly last time someone tried it and gave the world the Blight.”

Elisif had heard the story and tried not to think about it – but lost memories and a strange magical burn on her hand aside, she could safely say she'd avoided Blight corruption at least. 

“I'm OK, I think,” Elisif said, flexing her hand and staring at the green glow on her hand. “But it didn't exactly go well this time around. The Divine died, so did lots of other people, the holiest landmark of the Andrastian religion destroyed and...”

The forest seemed to thin out ahead as the trail led upwards into the mountains… and as the sky opened up to view again, Alistair got his first look at the Breach.

“Maker's _balls,_ ” Alistair gasped, staring at it in horror. “Sorry, I shouldn't blaspheme, but _look at it._ There's a great big fuck-off _hole in the sky!_ Elisif, they've broken the _world!_ ”

“I know,” Elisif said, gritting her teeth and clenching her fist as her mark flared up in response to it. Again. “But I will fix it. I promise.”

“Anyone else I'd think they were just saying that,” Alistair said, faint smile on his face. “When you say it, I find myself believing it.”

Elisif could feel herself blushing again as she looked away, because as if fancying him rotten wasn't bad enough on its own, he had to start developing a bad case of hero worship for her. Which was very very bad. Because handsome men looking adoringly at her was not something that was going to end well. Not with this one.

But Haven was right there and intact and her baby was there, and maybe having Maia again would divert her sex drive into maternal affection instead and she'd forget about Alistair. Maybe. It was worth a shot, and even if it didn't work, she'd still have her little pixie to cuddle.

“Haven's not far away, shall we make a move?” Elisif said, eager to change the subject. “We're not more than a mile or so away now.”

Alistair's grin broadened, some mischief clearly occurring to him. She wasn't wrong.

“Race you,” Alistair said cheerfully, spurring on his horse and galloping off, expertly overtaking the leading scouts and soldiers. Elisif shook her head and spurred her own horse on, chasing after him. Maybe it was a little bit childish… but she didn't want to let him win so easily. Let a fellow Dragonborn get the upper hand once and she'd not get it back easily. Elisif had no intention of letting _that_ happen.

So she rode after him to Haven, feeling the wind in her hair and adrenaline in her veins, and if the chase gave rise to her more primal predatory instincts, something in her found she didn't mind that at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Alistair put his head down, driving his horse onwards, grinning at the outraged shout from Cassandra as he galloped past her, and Leliana's cries as she just about managed to get out of the way in time. Oops. He'd be in trouble later, he could tell.

Somehow, that thought failed to put him off. Behind him more hoofbeats, the sound of Elisif's horse gaining on him, the Herald of Andraste with dragon blood in her veins, and when she caught him, she'd… 

Alistair didn't know. Probably nothing. Probably. She seemed genuinely kind and compassionate and a decent human being. But there was something about her that did things to him on a primal level, something that roused something in him. He couldn't explain it. He'd spent his entire life running from power and responsibility, but there was something about Elisif that made him want to change that. Something that made him want to seize power with both hands, go screaming across Ferelden, all power and fury and rage, with Elisif at his side, the two of them taking on the world together and…

Alistair had no idea what it meant or why it was happening with her, but he was determined to ignore and run away from it for as long as he possibly could. It really really couldn't end well, in fact it would likely end in tears, probably his. She was married, for Maker's sake. To Madanach, a dangerous battlemage warlord who would probably kill him if he tried anything with his wife. 

Or cry. For some reason that was worse, because Madanach really shouldn't cry or be heartbroken, it just didn't seem right. And Alistair liked Madanach! Madanach had been sympathetic and friendly and helped make the Calling stop. Betraying him by sleeping with his wife would be appalling.

_What if she starts it. What if she catches me and… makes me._

That would not be any better. Because then he might turn on her instead and… no. Absolutely not. Elisif couldn't go the same way Andraste did. Maker, there was a kid, wasn't there? Little baby Maia. Five years old, cute, didn't deserve to have her parents kill each other.

Alistair spurred his horse on and powered on to Haven, determined not to think about what would happen if Elisif caught him, because it would doom them all, destroy the world, ruin an innocent little girl's life. It would be very very bad, so Alistair wasn't going to give in to any of it. He was absolutely sure that would work, as long as he kept his eyes straight and his hands to himself. Yes. That'd be fine. That would absolutely work.

“Coming to get you, Theirin!” Elisif called from not far behind him, laughter in her voice. Alistair put his head down and patted his horse's shoulder.

“Not happening!” he called back to her. “And we're right here at Haven!”

Haven's gates were up ahead, better fortified than when Alistair was last here. Staffed by Inquisition guards who all stepped forward with swords on seeing the unknown armed horseman riding up to the gates. Alistair reined his horse in, deciding this counted as a victory of sorts.

“I won, Herald!” Alistair gasped, turning back to face Elisif as she slowed down and cantered up to the gates, shaking her head and narrowing her eyes at him.

“You cheated,” she told him accusingly. “You know what I do to boys who don't play fair?”

Alistair promptly changed his mind about this being a victory over anything, because he was getting an erection and his armour made this extremely uncomfortable, and that actually didn't turn him off like it should have.

“No?” Alistair said, laughing nervously and hoping his discomfort wasn't too obvious. Alas, he had a feeling she could tell all too well.

“Off the horse. Now,” Elisif told him, and Alistair did as told, glancing awkwardly at the approaching guards as one took his horse away at Elisif's orders.

“You're coming with me,” Elisif told him. “You're walking into Haven at my side, on foot while I ride, so everyone can see you at my feet and know you work for me. You're the Herald's footman and everyone will know it.”

Not being allowed to ride in with her on an equal footing but being made to walk behind instead was probably supposed to be humiliating. To anyone else, it might have been.

Alistair had spent the best part of four years slumped over a table in the Hanged Man in Kirkwall drinking himself into a stupor, bewailing his fate to anyone who'd listen and frequently waking up covered in his own vomit or urine, or half-naked next to a streetwalker or, Maker help him, Isabela,   
and having to visit that healer mage in Darktown to make sure he didn't have any embarrassing diseases, and if it had been Isabela, hope like hell he'd not told her he loved her, because he had a tendency to do that when drunk. Mercifully, she never took him seriously, and usually pretended he'd never said it, but that did not help with post-coital morning-after awkwardness. He'd had to deal with the loss of everything that had made his life worthwhile, had to deal with the nearest thing he had to a kind uncle finding him in that state and still taking care of him, and then spending all the time since in Redcliffe dealing with the stares and whispers. Everyone thinking he was now the Herald's pet?

Frankly, after all that, Alistair was fucking honoured for the Herald to pay him any attention whatsoever. Any association with the Herald of Andraste was a fucking gift.

“All right,” Alistair said cheerfully. “Lead on, Lady Herald.”

Elisif raised an eyebrow, but she didn't seem displeased. She just spurred her horse into motion, riding slowly enough for him to follow, but not looking back. She just seemed to assume he'd follow.

Damn her, but she'd read him extremely well. Alistair shook himself down and walked into Haven after her. He had no idea what he was supposed to do about all this… but it occurred to him maybe that wasn't up to him. Maybe he just needed to do what he was told, keep his head down, and let the Herald deal with her husband. Madanach probably wasn't the murderous type. Not where his wife was concerned, right? He'd understand it wasn't Alistair's fault, right?

Maker help him. Alistair was doomed. But… he'd been looking for a glorious death, right? Dying saving the Herald from her jealous husband might be what he'd been searching for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maferath has a lot to answer for. Next chapter, Elisif is reunited with Maia... and Haven meets Madanach.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Maia's ecstatic to get her parents back... but she's even more intrigued by their new friend. Meanwhile Alistair's a bit non-plussed by the sudden friendliness, and everyone's intrigued by the newly-arrived Mr. Herald.

Elisif did glance back a couple of times, wondering if she'd been a bit too hard on him. But Alistair seemed fine, keeping up with a carefree smile on his face, looking about him with interest. So it was Elisif rode into Haven, dismounting at the stables and handing off her horse to one of Dennet's stablehands… and watching with some surprise as the man himself emerged, saw Alistair and exclaimed loudly.

“Is that young Alistair?? By the Maker, lad, look at you, I've not seen you in years! You're looking well!”

“Dennet!!” Alistair laughed, happily embracing the Inquisition horsemaster. “Good to see you, I didn't know you'd joined up! There wasn't a lot left to do in Redcliffe, so I've come here with Elisif instead.”

“You two know each other?” Elisif asked, recalling Dennet having once served the Arl of Redcliffe. Alistair must have known him as a young man living in the castle.

“Know him?” Alistair grinned. “Spent most of my childhood in the stables and kennels. Honestly, I'd happily have gone on to be an apprentice horsemaster if they'd let me. Alas, thanks to the late lamented Arlessa Isolde packing me off to the Chantry, it never happened.”

“Sad loss for all Redcliffe,” Dennet said, but he was smiling as he patted Alistair's back. “But it's good to see you here in Haven, lad. Here, give me a hand with the Herald's horse, she's clearly had a hard ride, although not as bad as that stallion the guards just brought in – wait, did you have something to do with that?”

“Ah,” was all Alistair said sheepishly as Dennet led him away, chastising him on wearing out horses with unnecessary racing, leaving Elisif watching with amusement. Well, it had been Alistair's idea. He could live with the consequences, and honestly Dennet telling him off worked better than her doing it.

Then a familiar squeal echoed through the air.

“MAMA!!!!!”

Elisif turned to see Maia dashing down Haven's front steps then running towards her, arms outstretched, and Elisif knelt down to cuddle her little girl, relieved beyond all measure to have her back, safe, in her arms where Elisif could protect her.

_Not dead, not dead, you're not dead, not if I have anything to do with it, little pixie._

Maia was clinging on to her, pouting at the hard heavy armour making it harder to cuddle her, but Elisif was sure Maia would cope.

“Is Daddy here too?” Maia asked hopefully. “Did you find him, did you, did you?”

“Yes,” Elisif told her, grinning to see Maia's delight on hearing her father was fine. “He's on his way, he's just further back in one of the carriages. He's not keen on horse-riding. So I rode on ahead with – with Alistair.”

Elisif really didn't want to think too hard why she suddenly felt so nervous about introducing her daughter to Alistair, who had finally finished being harangued by Dennet and come to see if that was it or if Elisif wanted to finish telling him off as well. Elisif let Maia go and stepped back, indicating Alistair.

Alistair took one look at Maia, stopped, stared and dropped to his knees, gasping in mock-horror.

“Herald!” he cried. “You've _shrunk!_ ”

Maia stared back at him, and then started giggling.

“I'm not the Herald!” she laughed, blinking shyly up at him. Alistair looked a bit confused and shook his head.

“What? No, of course you are, you look just like her except smaller. Never mind, we can work with this. I'll kill the demons, you do the rifts.”

“YES!” Maia squealed. “I've closed rifts before! I can be the Mascot again!”

“Absolutely not!” Elisif cried, horrified. “Maia is not closing rifts!” This was the problem with Alistair, you could never quite tell if he was joking or not. “Or fighting demons! She's five!”

Alistair looked up, startled, and stared at her as if he'd never seen her before.

“Sweet mother of Andraste! There's _two of you!_ ” he gasped. “Elisif, did you know there was a mini-you running around?”

“Yes, Alistair, of course I did, I carried her inside me for nine months and then spent twelve hours giving birth to her, you don't forget that!” Elisif sighed. “Alistair, this is my five year old daughter, Maia. Maia, this is Alistair. He, er, works for me now.”

“He's silly!” Maia giggled, shyness apparently forgotten. “Silly Alistair!”

“Other way round,” he told her, grinning. “It's my middle name. Alistair Silly Theirin.”

Maia giggled again, glancing slightly uncertainly at Elisif. 

“No one's called that,” Maia announced. “No one's really called Silly! Are they, Mama, tell him!”

Elisif decided the time had come to retake control of the situation, kneeling in the snow next to her daughter and pointedly staring at Alistair.

“Alistair. _Behave,_ ” she told him, and Alistair's cheeks flushed pink as he looked away.

“Yes ma'am,” he said hastily, and Elisif wondered if she should take that tone of voice with him more often because that look was _seriously_ cute. Maia had quietened down and was now looking like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

“Are you Mama's new hyooshgarla?” Maia asked, and Alistair scratched his head at the unfamiliar word.

“Hoosegarler?” Alistair said, confused. Maia nodded, frowning.

“Ha-WOOSE-gerla!” Maia repeated. Frustrated, she turned to her mother, rattling off a string of unfamiliar words, except for mama, Fedoosyin, and that hyooshgarla word again.

“I don't think they have hayooscarlen in Thedas, darling,” Elisif said in Thedosian, soothing her. “I think they just call them bodyguards.”

“Oh,” Maia whispered, before turning back to Alistair. “Are you Mama's new bod-dy-garda?”

“Not exactly,” Elisif told her before Alistair could answer that yes, he'd happily help look after Elisif if she'd have him. “But he might come with me on missions sometimes.”

“Oh,” Maia whispered. Then she brightened up, stepping forward and taking Alistair's hand. “When you're not on missions with Mama, you could be my bod-dy-gard!”

“What, really?” Alistair said, surprised, even as if Elisif wanted to know why on Nirn Maia needed a bodyguard.

Maia didn't answer, smile fading as she looked away, sad little expression on her face.

“Darling?” Elisif whispered, kneeling next to her and rubbing her back. “Why do you need a bodyguard?”

Maia hesitated before whispering her response.

“Other children were picking on me,” Maia whispered. “In – In Haven. They called me a heathen witch and threw snow at me and pulled my hair and said I should be made Tranquil.”

Elisif gasped, horrified, as she pulled her tearful little girl into her arms. 

“Which children were these??” she cried, determined to have a word with their parents, because gods dammit, no one was going to be given free reign to abuse her baby! “Where are their parents??”

“I don't know,” Maia whispered. “I think they were going to the Chantry school Mother Giselle has.”

“Then I will find Mother Giselle, get her to tell me who these children are and then I am having a stern conversation with their parents and if I don't get a response I like, they're out!” Elisif snapped, seething. “No one treats other children like that, especially not _mine!_ ”

Maia seemed to cheer up a bit, but she still didn't look entirely happy.

“And there's a wicked witch!” Maia cried. “In the Chantry! I was playing with the nugs but she made them run away and then she told me I was being bad, but I wasn't hurting anyone, I was just playing, Mama! She's a wicked witch and I don't like her, and I want a bod-dy-gard!”

Maia's pout was heartrending to watch, and Elisif could only comfort her as best she could.

“Who's the wicked witch, sweetie?” Elisif asked, surprised. Maia wouldn't call someone who wasn't a mage a witch, but there weren't many mages here and most of those that were would respect the Herald's daughter, surely? Unless…

“She's Enchanter Vivienne,” Maia whispered. “She's horrible and mean and I don't like her!”

Ah. Enchanter Vivienne… who Elisif had invited here and who Elisif couldn't rightly tell to leave. Elisif couldn't stop the guilty look from becoming obvious, and Maia's eyes widened as she realised her mother might not be able to help. 

“Would that be the same Enchanter Vivienne from Montsimmard?” Alistair asked shrewdly. “The extremely pro-Circle one who heads up the Loyalist mages and probably disapproves of little girls playing with magic in public?”

“Yes,” Elisif admitted. “And, er, I asked her to join the Inquisition. Because I wanted to keep her where I could see her.”

“Mama!!!” Maia wailed, looking utterly betrayed as she stared horrified at her mother. “She's evil!”

“No, she's just misguided,” Elisif sighed, but Maia was only five years old and five year olds did not see the world that way. Alistair could see Maia was about to burst into tears, Mama failing her for the first time in her life. He couldn't let that happen.

“I'll be your bodyguard!” Alistair announced cheerfully. “Don't worry, Maia. I'll protect you. I used to be a Templar a very long time ago. I can still stop magic. I can stop hers if I have to.”

“You used to be a Templar?” Maia whispered, looking very uncertain about this. Alistair recalled stories of Maia having a phobia of Templars and did his best to reassure her.

“Years ago,” he told her. “I don't think you were even born yet. And I hated it. Really really hated it. Trust me, little Maia, you have never known boredom until you've had Brother Reynard lecture you on the fifth canticle of Transfigurations for three hours. So I left, joined the Wardens, spent the next few years beheading darkspawn instead, had a much better time, was almost a hero, nearly got to be King… and then it's probably best I don't talk about the next few years, they weren't very nice.”

Maia was still staring up at him… and then she lunged forward and cuddled him. Before Alistair could react, she was staring up at him, smiling.

“You can be my boddy-gardr!” Maia chirped. “You can save me from other children and wicked witches and I will tell everyone you're the best and bravest hero ever! Apart from Mama, of course.”

“Maia, you can't just…!” Elisif protested, and then her daughter turned to smile sweetly at her.

“But Mama, there's a wicked witch here!” Maia said innocently. “And you invited her! Don't worry, I understand. You're planning something! You're going to wait until she is lulled into a False Sense of Security and then defeat her in Honourable Battle!”

From the way she enunciated the words very precisely, someone had clearly been spending too much time either listening to Reach fairy tales or Cicero, and Elisif was definitely having words with both Cicero and Madanach about what they said around her baby in future. But it meant Maia had forgiven her for inviting Vivienne.

“Maia, if I had a secret plan to teach Enchanter Vivienne the error of her ways, you know I couldn't possibly talk about the details with you,” Elisif said primly. Maia just grinned and nodded.

“Yes Mama!” she said cheerfully. “But I'll need a bod-dy-ga-ard to keep me safe in the meantime, won't I?”

Elisif began to realise her daughter might look like her but had clearly inherited every bit of her father's cunning, and that she'd just lost this one.

“Fine, if Alistair is willing and your father doesn't object, you may have Alistair as a bodyguard when I don't need him,” Elisif sighed, on the one hand glad Maia was getting on with Alistair, but on the other, hoping this didn't end badly. “Alistair, I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be,” Alistair said, squeezing Maia as she cuddled him again. “I don't mind. She's sweet. And clearly very bright. Look, I spent the best part of the last decade wasting my life, making sure your daughter's OK while you save the world's the least I can do.”

“I'm hoping her father can help with that one at least a bit,” Elisif said wearily, wondering where he'd got to anyway. And then she had her answer as she saw Borkul step off a carriage, helping first Dorian down, then Varric rather more unceremoniously than was strictly warranted, and then finally, she saw Madanach step out of the carriage, brushing his black Reach-King armour down and looking about for her.

Maia had looked up, seen Borkul, looked excitedly about for her father… and stopped still as she saw him, apparently none the worse for wear and looking about for his wife… and then his eyes fell on his little girl, standing in Haven's snows and staring at him.

Slowly, Madanach began to approach, smiling a bit emotionally at Maia, and Maia promptly forgot the rest of the world existed.

“DADDY!!!!!!!” Maia shrieked, so loudly that several Inquisition soldiers winced and a few nearby nugs scampered off into the trees. Then she was off, sprinting across the snow, a little blur of brown coat and red hair, snow kicked up in her wake, and Madanach knelt down, holding out his arms.

Maia ran into his embrace, crying out again as she clung on to him, shaking all over.

“Daddy, Daddy, you're all right, I was scared!” Maia wailed. Madanach held her close, whispering he was sorry, he'd missed her too, he was just glad she was safe. And Elisif looked on, seeing the husband who'd once been near death and barely knowing who Maia and she even were, now kneeling down and cuddling Maia, holding her tight and being held in turn by a daughter who was clearly close to him.

_I've got my family back. It was all worth it. Maia's got a father again. She's happy. I did the right thing!_

That certainty was not something Elisif had the luxury of enjoying all that often, and she let herself indulge now, tears of joy in her eyes but not caring who saw.

“Are you all right?” she heard Alistair whisper. “Only you're, er, crying...”

“It's fine,” she whispered. “I just missed them both so much and last time I saw them together he barely knew who Maia was and now look at them! He's healthy and he knows who she is and she loves him! Healing him and getting her her father back was the whole reason I ended up coming here, and it worked!”

Grin from Alistair that had Elisif not been too busy staring at Madanach and Maia to notice would have had her going all emotional for entirely different reasons, and then he impulsively put his arm around her to cuddle her, because he'd never been any good at keeping his emotions under control.

“It did, and speaking entirely selfishly, I'm rather glad you did come here, because not only are you going to fix the sky for us, you and your family are collectively and individually lovely, and I should probably not touch the Herald of Andraste, should I, there's probably a commandment or something, I'll just, er, let you go...”

He backed off, nervously scratching the back of his head and hoping she didn't execute him on the spot or anything, and quite why he just couldn't do the sensible thing and keep his hands to himself before Madanach found out and cut them off or something, Alistair really didn't know. But Elisif didn't seem offended, in fact she was drying her eyes and smiling at him.

“You're allowed to cuddle me. You're my friend. I like you. So does my daughter, and so, it appears, does my husband from what I've heard.” Elisif smiled at him and patted his chest. “You're all right with me.”

“All right,” Alistair echoed nervously. “That's fine! Really! Fine… ahaha, fine...”

“HEY! WERE YOU TWO CUDDLING???”

Madanach was striding over, Maia in his arms, and a distinctly pouty expression on his face. Alistair promptly whimpered and turned to run… at least until Elisif grabbed his arm.

“Stop it,” she told him. “Madanach likes you!”

It certainly didn't sound like it, especially as Madanach put Maia down and walked up to them.

“Keep your hands off him, I saw him first,” Madanach said, pouting at Elisif before walking up to Alistair and pulling him into a hug.

Alistair laughed nervously once more and carefully returned the hug, patting Madanach on the back and wishing he knew just what the hell was going on and why the two of them were being so damn _friendly._ Elisif he could put down as fancying him back, but why was she being so apparently unafraid of Madanach's wrath, and why was Madanach observing all this and still being so affectionate to him?

Alistair really wasn't sure about any of this, and some of the conclusions that were occurring to him were downright terrifying, but Madanach had let him go and returned his attention to his wife and daughter, scooping Maia up and leaning in to kiss Elisif.

“Hello love,” Madanach murmured. “So this is Haven, huh? It's smaller than I'd expected. And… colder.”

“We're in the mountains, of course it's cold, you should have dressed better for the weather,” Elisif scolded, wrapping her arms around them both and leaning over to kiss him. “Welcome to Haven. We've got a cabin in the village, haven't we, Maia?”

“Yes!” Maia squealed, before her face fell. “But it's not very big. Is there room for all of us? For me and you and Daddy and Alistair?”

“Alistair?” Elisif gasped, cheeks flushing. “Darling, he's not staying with us, he's got his own quarters. Somewhere. I think Leliana was sorting something out.”

“But he's going to be my boddy-gard!” Maia gasped, staring at her mother, appalled. “He can't do that if he's not with us!”

“Bodyguard?” Madanach said, eyeing Alistair. “Why does Maia need a bodyguard? She has us.”

Maia had gone very quiet, apparently not willing to explain exactly why she needed a bodyguard, but fortunately Elisif was more forthcoming.

“Some of the other kids were picking on her – they didn't want to play with a little mage girl,” Elisif explained. “Don't worry, I will be tracking down the parents. Also, er, Madanach, I may have invited...”

“Enchanter Vivienne's here,” Alistair said cheerfully. “She's the former First Enchanter of Montsimmard Circle, heads up the Loyalist mages, has apparently joined the Inquisition and Maia thinks she's a wicked witch so has hired an ex-Templar bodyguard. That's me, by the way.”

“What,” Madanach said, eyes swivelling to Elisif, who was staring balefully at Alistair, a man in definite danger of getting a clip round the ear in the near future once Maia was out of sight. “Enchanter fu- Enchanter Vivienne? Here??? What in the name of Magnus is she- did you invite her??”

“I didn't know you were even in Thedas at the time!” Elisif hissed. “She offered her services, I thought she might be useful! I didn't know that two weeks later, I'd have you, Maia, Eola, Liriel and more mages than I'd know what to do with! Also she's got contacts at the Imperial Court, Josie can use that.”

“Don't worry, Daddy, Mama's planning something!” Maia added, a bit unnerved by the way Madanach was staring at her mother. “She's going to lull Vivienne into a false sense of security and then make her see the error of her ways!”

“Is she. Is she really,” Madanach said sceptically. “Well, if she doesn't, I will, that is a promise!”

“Two weeks of your company, and she'll probably leave!” Elisif hissed back, already a little disillusioned. Madanach healthy meant Madanach opinionated which meant… well, it didn't mean a quiet life, that was for certain. But fortunately, she'd touched on his sense of humour.

“Ha! We can but hope,” Madanach said, grinning. “Well, we just turned up with several hundred free mages on the way, and we're going to be camping out – ooh, just the other side of that lake will do nicely. Camping out over there, doing what mages do best and scandalising everyone. Like it or not, we will be the public face of magedom, not Vivienne. How will she cope when the attention is centred away from her, I wonder.”

“Eight help me, you're going to be impossible, aren't you?” Elisif sighed. “Just… just try not to get her back up too much, hmm? I'd like to keep her onside and not causing any trouble.”

“Good luck with that,” Madanach sighed. “Ach, come on Alistair, let's find where you're actually staying, because I'm sure it's not with us.”

“Madan- ugh!” Elisif threw up her hands and waited as Madanach carried Maia off, Alistair trailing behind. She said nothing, waiting for the inevitable realisation that Madanach didn't know his way around and Alistair hadn't been here since the place was run by inbred dragon cultists. This wouldn't take long, she was sure.

Sure enough, Madanach paused, turned to Alistair, who shrugged, and then to Maia.

“I don't know where we're going, Daddy, there's lots of places?” Maia said, puzzled. “There's the cabin and the tavern and the Chan-tery and the quartermaster and Leliana's tent and...”

“All right,” Madanach sighed, gritting his teeth and turning to where Elisif was approaching, not even trying to hide the smug grin on her face.

“We're meeting with _my_ Inner Council, of _my_ Inquisition, where _I_ will be deciding the strategy and what to do with our free mage allies. Presently led by Grand Enchanter Fiona, not you. Madanach, I'm very grateful you came to find me, and don't think I didn't miss you, but you're not the one in charge here. I am.”

Madanach said nothing, just holding a worried five year old in his arms as he stared back at Elisif, expression unreadable, and then he broke the tense silence by actually laughing.

“Elisif cariad, I left a writ of abdication with Kaie before I left,” he admitted, reverting back to Tamrielic. “Regardless of if she uses it or not, my fate's not been my own since I came here, not really. I know about the law that punishes abduction of a member of the Imperial family with the death penalty. I can't go home without you there to arrange the pardon. I know this. I'm entirely dependent on you now. I know this, I've always known it.” He put Maia down, responding to her whisper of 'daddy?' with a murmur to hush now, it was fine, he just needed to talk to her mama, that was all, and then walked over to where Elisif was waiting.

“You saved me. Twice over,” he said roughly. “You got me my kingdom, you gave me happiness again when I never thought I'd ever see anything to make me smile. And then when the healers had given up hope, you did it again. I owe you my life, so I guess that makes me yours, doesn't it. So, take me to your Inquisition, Brenhina. For as long they're loyal to you, I'm loyal to them.”

Elisif closed her eyes, remembering just why she loved this man, smiling as his lips met hers. They stayed that way for a while, at least until Elisif heard Alistair telling Maia that he wasn't sure what they'd been saying but he thought they'd patched things up.

“We should get going to the Chantry,” Elisif said, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.

“You go on ahead with young Alistair,” Madanach told her. “I'll take Maia, she'll probably want to tell me everything there is to know about Haven all at once if I know her. We'll just slow you down.”

“All right, but I'll wait by the Chantry for you,” Elisif said. “I want you there when I meet them. I have to tell my ex-Templar military commander I just granted the mages freedom, and I want you there. Ideally with Maia. He might not shout if she's there.”

“Ah, don't you worry, I've got your back,” Madanach said, reverting back to Thedosian as he went to pick up Maia. “He walks out, I'll take over as the Inquisition's Enchanter-General, isn't that right, Maia?”

“Yay!” Maia cried, cheerful again now her parents were no longer squabbling. “Daddy can run your armies for you, Mama!”

“Commander Cullen hasn't actually resigned in protest yet,” Elisif said, hoping this eventuality would not actually materialise. “Come on, let's go. We've got an inner council to talk to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

As Varric had predicted, Madanach's arrival caused something of a stir, and nearly all of Haven had turned out to see this man who was following the Herald in, with her child in his arms, a child who was cuddling him and laughing and smiling and seeming very pleased to see him again. A man who was shivering a bit due to the revealing nature of the black leather get up he was wearing, complete with gold-leaf feathers, gold-plated skulls on the belt and a sharp axe at his waist. 

The Herald's husband had arrived and far from being the hero they'd imagined, he looked like a dangerous barbarian warrior. A dangerous warrior who was presently grinning at his little girl and listening attentively as she told him all about Haven.

“And that's Solas, he's a mage who talks to spirits, and that's The Iron Bull, he's a mersiner-ary in charge of the Bull's Chargers and he has the horns because he's a Koon-AR-ee and that's Liriel, hello Liriel!”

“Hello Maia,” Liriel said, getting up from where she'd been sitting round a campfire talking to Solas and Iron Bull, both of whom were staring at each other rather pointedly… although both men's faces turned to expressions of surprise as they saw Madanach watching them, Maia in his arms.

“Madanach, welcome back,” Liriel said, seeming genuinely pleased he'd made it. She'd swapped the mage robes for a set of light leather armour, and seemed to have tracked down a sword from somewhere. Backup for if Templars killed her magic, Madanach guessed. Smart thinking.

“Liriel was looking after me while Mama rescued you!” Maia chirped, beaming at the elf, who returned the smile while simultaneously managing to look relieved at this not being her job any more.

“That's very kind of you,” Madanach told her, determining not to impose on Liriel too often – he didn't entirely put it past her to cheerfully write some passive-aggressive notes in her research report along the lines of not being able to be as detailed as she'd have liked due to all the childcare and thereby bringing Keirine's wrath down on him. “I'll have to see about getting you some extra compensation for all this.”

“Oh don't worry, I put the order for this armour, sword and a bow on Elisif's tab, we're good,” Liriel said cheerfully. “And I made use of your cabin too, in fact I think half my stuff's still in there...”

Madanach still wasn't going to impose on her any more than he had to, but that was now mainly because Liriel would definitely take full advantage of absolutely anything he had her do. Bloody High Elves.

“Well, I'm moving in now that Elisif's back, so if you could move your stuff out of there, I'd appreciate it,” Madanach purred and Liriel did at least have the grace to blush.

“Yes of course,” she said sheepishly. “Er, Madanach, this is Solas and Iron Bull, gentlemen, this is Madanach. Elisif's husband and Maia's father.”

Both men were looking him over non-committally, the bald elven mage looking blandly intrigued and the big Qunari looking frankly suspicious. Neither was promising but Liriel seemed happy enough. Of course, Madanach had no idea what Liriel's taste in men was like. For all he knew, she was the type to make terrible romantic decisions and take up with wholly unsuitable partners. But at least Solas was a mage. This Iron Bull was a complete unknown. Sure, Madanach could dismiss him as some dumb mercenary leader… but he was sizing Madanach up like a trained professional. This man had a brain. This man bore watching and Madanach made a mental note to speak to Elisif about him, warn her not to write off Iron Bull as just a dumb merc.

“Pleasure,” Madanach said, nodding in their direction. “Looking forward to working with you both. The Inquisition values its mage members very highly – and if they don't, I will.”

That did get a smile out of Solas. 

“You're a mage as well, aren't you? The source of little Maia's magic.”

“Some of it,” Madanach said, not really wanting to get into the Thu'um. “I wasn't the one who trained her. My wife's court mage, Eola's older sister and the Dragon-Lieutenant of Solitude shared that responsibility, isn't that right, Maia?”

“Yes!” Maia laughed, beaming. “They're my friends and they taught me magic! Oh, and Argis taught me how to get away if anyone attacked me. He made me practice lots. He's my brother and he's the best!”

Well now, no wonder Maia seemed as adept as she did at escaping to find cover during fights. Argis was clearly taking good care of his little sister.

“Smart man,” Bull observed. “The little one may have magic, but her best chance at survival in any fight is getting to safety and letting her allies deal with the problem. And she's got no shortage of those. Most decent adults won't stand by while a little girl's in trouble, and posing as father of a little one just trying to find her mother in all the chaos is an excellent cover story. Sir.”

Bull was definitely a lot smarter than he appeared. Madanach nodded, relieved to hear Elisif calling from up the path for him to get a move on.

“Well, I'll have to catch up with you all later,” Madanach said, indicating in Elisif's direction. “Need to see what my wife wants. Liriel. Solas. Iron Bull.”

Madanach took his leave, and Liriel turned cheerfully back to the two men.

“So that's Elisif's husband,” Liriel said, feeling strangely cheerful to have Madanach back again. She'd always liked his company. Knowledgeable about magic and yet not quite as disturbing in his interests as Eola was. He'd certainly help sort Enchanter Vivienne out, she was sure. “What do you think?”

“He's not how I'd expected,” Solas observed. “I'd heard he was a mage, but he seems older than I thought, and yet not. Like an old man who hasn't aged physically.”

“And yet not?” Liriel said, raising an eyebrow. “Solas, it's OK to admit you can't get to grips with human ages, I can never figure them out either.”

“What's to figure out – never mind,” Bull sighed. “Look, his age doesn't matter. What you two need to know about him is that he's not a mage, he's a warrior with magic. No staff. He's got an axe instead, so that when someone gets in melee range, he can deal with them with that. He's also physically fit. He did not get those muscles sat behind a desk in a Circle tower. Man's a fighter. I could probably take him out, but you'd need to get the drop on him first. It's not always the bigger man wins. If he's trained in unarmed combat, and I think he might be, he could hold his own even without magic. That, and he's got that bodyguard of his, that Orc.” He nodded at Borkul, who was following Madanach up the path, shooting a glare at Bull.

“Hey, I got a name, Straw Bull!” Borkul snapped, having caught the last part of that.

“Yes, and he'll use it in future, won't you, Bull,” said Liriel, staring meaningfully at Bull, who shrugged and looked away. Mollified, Borkul moved on.

“That, that is the problem, and I'd write him off as a dumb goon, but I've spoken to Blackwall and Borkul did more than his share of planning for the Crestwood job,” Bull said, frowning. “That Orc is brighter than he looks, and he's dangerous. And that is why Madanach's dangerous.”

“Because of the Orc bodyguard?” Solas said, amused. Bull shook his head.

“No,” Bull growled. “Because Madanach isn't just a gifted mage, he's a fucking _commander._ Man's got brains, man's used to running an army, man's got retainers. Man inspires _loyalty_. His magic's not the dangerous thing about him. His _mind's_ the dangerous thing. But you know this, don't you, Tam.”

Liriel sighed and admitted the truth of this.

“He was the King in Rags back home, not the Mage in Rags,” Liriel told them. “He was King of the Witchmen, and while his magic's impressive, it's not why he ended up in jail. The politics of the Reach are why he ended up in prison.”

“And now he's here,” Bull said, shaking his head. “The Herald's apostate mage husband who's a warlord who's done jail time back home. Wonderful.”

“Bull. Leave him alone,” Liriel warned him, narrowing her eyes. “Yes, he's powerful and dangerous, but he's not going to stab you in the back.”

“He might have to one day, you think the Qun's going to put up with him running around?” Bull said, voice quietening and while Liriel had found out he was Ben-Hassrath, she'd not really thought about what it meant. “He's a dangerous mage, a powerful military commander, and he'd never join the Qun even if the Qun would have him. You saw the way he was fussing over Maia. He'd never give his kid up to the Qun. He'd fight to the death to protect her and that would take a lot of Qunari with him.”

He certainly would, and Liriel felt her blood run cold as she recalled her own family back in Alinor. Maybe her mother was a high-ranking Justiciar, but her father was a civilian, her brother had a wife and a child, little Ayrenn, and then there was her little sister, Ancalime, still ten years away from coming of age. If the Qunari invaded Alinor… it didn't bear thinking about.

“It might not happen,” Solas said quietly. “The Qunari invading Tamriel. They haven't even conquered Tevinter, and Tamriel, from what you've told me, would be no less dangerous. Your people alone would be a match. With the rest of the Empire behind you...”

“Alinor isn't _part_ of the Empire,” Liriel snapped. But she did take his point. 

“They might help out against the Qunari though,” Liriel added. “Maybe.”

“So they should, the Qun is one step up from barbarism,” Solas said vehemently, glaring at Bull. Bull glared back, and this was not the first time they'd had this argument – really, Liriel was getting tired of it by this point.

“Hey, the Qun is a damn sight more civilised than most of the human civilisations!” Bull snapped. “We don't have slaves, we treat elven and human viddathari with respect, and we assign jobs and status to those best equipped to handle the responsibility, not pass it on down family lines using any means necessary to keep it and crushing everyone else under foot!”

“Yes, because you crush _everyone!_ ” Solas shouted back. “No one can think for themselves, act for themselves, they have what the Qun gives them and nothing else!”

“All right, both of you stop it!” Liriel cried, knowing where this was going – nowhere good. “Bull is not here to convert. Solas is not entirely wrong that the only people seeking the Qun out are the poor and desperate. Whatever the right of it is, I don't care. It's not for us to decide. We have a sky to fix. After that, then maybe we figure out the politics anew, but it's not my problem. I'm a researcher! You're a mercenary and a spy. You… I don't know what you're here for other than helping the Inquisition, but you won't be part of the politics either. Whatever happens, we won't be deciding any of it!”

Solas's face looked grim but he did not argue, merely bowing his head and taking his leave. Bull was a bit more contrite.

“Sorry, Tam,” he apologised. “But you've got to know the Qunari might invade Tamriel one day. Maybe not in our lifetimes. But one day.” 

Liriel could have another eight, possibly even nine, centuries in her lifetime. But she did not tell Bull this. She'd already gathered Qunari aged more or less like humans did.

“Maybe,” Liriel said quietly. “But it won't be an easy fight.”

“Now that we agree on,” Bull said, finally smiling. “Also, Tam? Solas's reaction. That wasn't an admittance you were right. I don't know what motives he might have, but I wonder if he might not be more important than he seems.”

An elven apostate with no history of any note but with considerable magical power and a love of freedom, specifically elven freedom. Liriel wondered if he might not be thinking about creating an elven nation to rival Alinor – maybe even with Aldmeri help. Liriel couldn't help but wonder if the Dominion might be interested in a foothold in Thedas. An elven nationalist client state might be just the thing.

But for Solas to be any use in that matter, he'd need other people. A resistance movement. Liriel hadn't seen any trace of any of that. Solas was working alone as far as she could tell – no contacts outside the Inquisition.

“We'd better keep an eye on him,” Liriel decided. “We don't know enough about him to know what he might be planning, if he's planning anything.”

“Then we find out,” Bull said, grinning. “Come on, Tam, let's get a drink. Tonight, everyone will be talking about the Lord Herald Consort. We can start looking into Solas tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The 'ha-woose-carla' bit is Alistair not knowing what a housecarl is.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madanach's arrival was always going to cause a stir and the one most likely to raise a fuss predictably does just that, and comparisons to another warlord husband of a spiritual leader abound. But not everyone's being unreasonable, and not everyone sees villain and little else, and one unexpected ally turns out to be just the person to allay Haven's fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are going to be sorting out everyone settling into Haven - sounds a bit dull, but there's two big and only recently united factions to sort of merge into one Inquisition, it doesn't happen overnight. This is the Inner Council meeting Madanach and the fallout thereof.
> 
> Quite a bit of DA fandom seems to think Alistair and Cullen would be natural buddies, but tbh, other than both being blonde Ferelden warrior Chantry boys, they're not actually that similar. Cullen had a stable home, but despite missing it, willingly gave it up to join the Templars and fully committed himself to it. He's also serious, introverted and very focused on the job. Whereas Alistair's outgoing, cheerful, will befriend anyone... but left an unhappy home with no real family ties behind, didn't want to be a Templar, and was secretly resentful of the whole Chantry. There's no actual reason why they'd get on. I've taken advantage of that. :D
> 
> The second half takes a bit of a detour into Elisif dealing with these kids who were picking on Maia, because Elisif and Madanach do not believe persecution is a normal part of childhood, not their baby's anyway. Fortunately they've got someone prepared to be diplomat, and it's not Josie...

The Lord Herald Consort, albeit not officially titled yet, followed Elisif into the Chantry, Maia in his arms, the little girl instinctively cuddling closer into him as she looked pensively around at the Chantry. It wasn't a big building, but it was the biggest one in Haven, had its fair share of statues, including an inevitable one of Andraste… oh, and one of her husband. Maferath the Hypocritical Traitor, deep in mourning for a wife he'd sold out to her foes personally.

Madanach could just feel people comparing him, had felt it even as he made his way through Haven. Maia had seemed oblivious, but he'd noticed. Devout Andrastians all seeing the Herald's husband and seeing not devoted ally but traitor in their midst. Him being a mage was likely just confirmation in their eyes.

_I'm not the jealous type! I don't care you love her more than me, I'm used to that! I'm an ageing battlemage barbarian, everyone who's not a Reachman has hated me for most of my life!_

But no one would ever believe him. Madanach sighed and wondered if he should start working on illusions to make the lights flicker and thunder sound whenever he walked into a room. If they were going to think him a villain on principle, he might as well have some special effects, right?

Elisif was up ahead, joined by Cassandra (still glaring at him, although it turned out she did that to half of Haven, especially Varric, who'd shared all sorts of Seeker Pentaghast anecdotes on the ride up here), Leliana (now she was nice – friendly, charming, reminded him of Eola, he could find it in himself to spare a lot of time for Leliana) and two others who'd just joined them. One woman in her late twenties in fine gold silk and matching gold jewellery who was really rather pretty and presumably the famous Josephine about whom Varric had been very forthcoming and whose comments had nearly led to Borkul pushing him off the carriage at one point. Madanach really did want Borkul to be happy, of course he did, hadn't he essentially bought Borkul's beloved younger sister off her father before she could be forced into marriage to a rival chieftain? However, he had a feeling the bride-price for someone like Josephine would make even the Mournful Throne shiver.

 _Kaie, start calling in debts and doing some financial wizardry, we're going to need the cash._ Kaie had apparently gained a reputation as a brilliant financier who was manipulating half the nobles in the Empire and beyond with loans and investment from the state-owned Bank of Markarth, and Madanach didn't entirely understand how you could loan the same thousand septims out to three different people at once and suddenly have three thousand septims, but Kaie assured him it would all be fine as long as everyone didn't all want their coin at once. It made him nervous but right now, it was not his problem.

No, the problem was the blonde Fereldan soldier with a stern look on his face, probably around Elisif's age or a little older and with no love in his eyes for Madanach. This would be the notorious Commander Cullen, who Varric had also been very forthcoming about. He'd been the Knight-Captain of the infamous Kirkwall Circle, notorious as the worst of the Circles and the one that had eventually spawned the rebellion, and Varric had been positively gleeful to tell Madanach that he'd once personally heard Cullen say that mages could not be their friends and were not people like anyone else.

Madanach took one look at the man and knew instinctively that they were never going to be friends. Especially given that Alistair, a man Madanach was really far too fond of for anyone's good and who definitely did think mages were people and was really really bad at not being friends with them, was bounding up to Cullen, grinning.

“Cullen-wullen!” Alistair cried, arms outstretched. “You haven't changed a bit! Apart from the ruff, what's up with that?”

Cullen's appalled expression was something that Madanach would treasure for a long time. A very long time, because it occurred to him that the fun-loving ever-cheerful personality of Alistair Theirin was the polar opposite of stern, self-controlled Commander Cullen, with the definite potential of driving the former mage-taker up the wall.

This was going to be _glorious._ So Madanach sat back and watched, quietly whispering to a confused five year old that Cullen and Alistair clearly had been Templars together, but perhaps Cullen hadn't exactly liked Alistair that much and found him annoying but Alistair didn't quite realise that, or maybe he did and liked teasing Cullen.

“What, like you and Cicero?” Maia whispered, and his daughter was perhaps a bit too perceptive for her own good.

“Possibly, or like you and the twins,” Madanach murmured back. “Except I secretly don't mind Cicero that much. I don't think it's the same with Cullen and Alistair.”

Sure enough, Alistair was trying to hug Cullen, or pat him on the back at least, and Cullen was visibly appalled and trying to get away from him, to no avail. Alistair was combat-trained and strong and determined and was even now ruffling Cullen's hair as Cullen tried vainly to get out of the hold Alistair had on him. Josephine appeared to have no idea how to react, but behind Madanach Borkul was chuckling, and up ahead Elisif was clearly trying not to laugh, Cassandra was making that disgusted noise that seemed to be a trademark of hers by now, and Leliana… Leliana had her hand over her face, barely managing to hide the giggling.

“Get off me!” Cullen cried, trying in vain to fight Alistair off. “Leliana… Leliana, call him off!”

“He's not a dog, Cullen!” Leliana protested, grin not fading for a second. “He's just being friendly!”

“We're _not_ frie-!” Cullen cried, only for Elisif to step in.

“Alistair!” Elisif called out. “That's enough! Grown-ups are talking now.”

“But Alistair is a grown-up!” Maia whispered.

“Yeah, but he's not really acting like one right now so your mama's gone for her mother voice,” Madanach told her, putting Maia down and leading her to join the main group, where Alistair had finally released Cullen and retreated to stand behind Leliana, pouting at Cullen.

“So I shouldn't put you in a room together then?” Leliana said, amused. Alistair looked revolted at the very thought, and Cullen's expression turned to one of genuine horror.

“Maker no, I shared a room with him in Kinloch Hold before the Wardens took him away,” Cullen said, shuddering. “He was insufferably cheerful then as well. He's a morning person! I can't share quarters with a morning person!”

“And if you hadn't routinely stayed up past midnight staring into a candle flame or trying to memorise the Canticle of Transfigurations, you might have actually had some energy in the morning!” Alistair said, glaring as he folded his arms.

Madanach rather sympathised with Cullen at this point, because he wasn't a morning person either and needed at least one cup of tea to feel even vaguely human, which was a bit of a problem when faced with a five year old who tended to wake up at the crack of dawn, but mercifully she was usually content to cuddle and talk which Madanach could just about manage.

“I'm gonna regret this, but put him in with me,” Borkul sighed. “Think I got the cabin next door to the Herald's, if Alistair's sharing with me, means Cicero won't be. All I ask is no singing before breakfast, and you better not snore, Theirin.”

“Been three years since anyone was last in a position to check, but no, I don't think so,” Alistair sighed. “All right, I'll get moved in. Elisif, need me for this or am I dismissed?”

“Wait by the door,” Elisif told him, anxiety briefly showing. Clearly she wanted all the allies she could muster for this meeting. Madanach inched closer to her and carefully positioned himself between Maia and Cullen. He didn't think she'd be in any danger, but all the same, it paid to be careful. Cullen's eyes finally fell on him, the angry question on his lips dying as he saw Maia staring up at him while huddling close to Madanach, and it occurred to Cullen who the strange man with a protective arm round Maia might be.

“Commander. Ambassador,” Elisif was saying nervously. “This is Madanach. My husband. Maia's father. We found him, thank the Eight. And we've got the mages' assistance, the vanguard's arriving as we speak. The rest will be here within a fortnight. Madanach, these are the Inquisition's ambassador and military commander, Josephine Montilyet and Cullen of Honnleath.”

“It's a pleasure,” Madanach purred, genuine smile for Josephine and an entirely pleasureless grimace for Cullen.

“Oh, the pleasure is all ours, my lord, we're honoured to have you and little Maia here and we needed the mage rebellion's help,” Josephine said, actually dropping a curtsey – Borkul had been right, she truly was adorable. Not his type, but he found himself liking the woman already. 

“What was their asking price, as if we can't guess,” Cullen sighed. “How much freedom are we giving them exactly?”

Madanach glanced at Elisif, aware of Leliana doing the same, and Maia staring up at her mother curiously. Behind them, Borkul had stood to attention, hand subconsciously shifting to Volendrung, and Alistair had likewise moved nearer. All eyes on Elisif, and then it was Cassandra glaring at her.

“Tell them,” Cassandra said, eyes narrowing. “Tell them what you told the Grand Enchanter, with the Queen of Ferelden herself to witness.”

“Herald?” Josephine asked, concerned. “What does she mean? What did you tell her?”

“Herald...” Cullen said, warning note in his voice. “What did – Maker's Breath, tell me you didn't.”

“I promised them freedom,” Elisif said, slowly straightening up as the courage of her convictions strengthened her, stubborn to the last in defence of what she knew to be right. “I told them the Inquisition would support their cause if they helped us, that any lands or organisation I preside over will recognise mages as full citizens with the same rights and freedoms as any other. No Circles. Mage children raised by their parents alongside everyone else in their community, with other mages to assist with their training. Magic's a gift of the Eight, not a curse, and if that's the mages' price for their help, I have no problem giving them what they should have had all along.”

“We don't worship the Eight!” Cullen cried, face flushing red as he tore at his hair. “Maker's breath, Elisif, what have you done?? The Chantry will _destroy_ us! That's if uncontrolled magic doesn't do it first.”

“We're quite capable of controlling our magic, and don't talk to my wife like that!” Madanach snapped, at the same time as Leliana observed the Chantry wasn't capable of anything of the sort right now, and Josephine protesting that they needed mage assistance, they would have had to promise something.

“Not everything they asked for!” Cullen cried. “Maker, I knew we should have asked the Templars.”

Maia cried out in alarm, clutching at Madanach's kilt and Elisif lost her temper, stepping forward to challenge Cullen.

“Fiona is in the right, and I am _done_ arguing with you!” Elisif snapped, Thu'um in her voice making the Chantry shake. “I am no hypocrite, to negotiate one rule for my _ahmul_ and _kiir_ and another for everyone else! Question my Thu'um and my honour again and I'll...”

“Maia, go and stand behind Alistair,” Madanach said in Tamrielic, recognising what words of the dragon tongue slipping into casual speech invariably portended. “No, don't argue, just do it, there's a good girl. Elisif. _Elisif!_ ”

“WHAT?” Elisif growled, turning on Madanach with fire in her eyes, even as Maia had retreated to watch from where Alistair was standing.

“He's not worth it,” Madanach murmured, switching back to Thedosian and speaking softly and gently so as to calm her down but loud enough Cullen and the others could hear. “Yes, I know you could have him on his arse and execute him in about five seconds, we all know that, I think he knows that too, and his head would look lovely on the gates of Haven, but this is not worth killing him over, not when he's going to back down in about five minutes and acknowledge the power of your Thu'um. He's outnumbered and knows it, and if he walks out, I will take over his job and run your army for you.” This was accompanied by a grin aimed at Cullen, who was positively snarling at Madanach right now. Annoyed, Cullen turned to Cassandra for an opinion.

“You were there, you couldn't possibly have agreed with this!” he cried.

“Yes, I was,” Cassandra said firmly. “And I did not and do not. But I do support it. We cannot afford to second-guess our people, Commander. The Herald did as she thought right, as we all knew she likely would do. You cannot tell me you are surprised.”

“I'm surprised by the damn maleficar on her arm!” Cullen snapped, gesturing at Madanach. “Don't tell me he's not dangerous, I read the reports on the aftermath of the MageGuard's handiwork!”

“He is my husband,” Elisif growled. “And fear him if you will, but he is NOT as dangerous as I am!”

That did seem to get through to Cullen, who stared into Elisif's eyes and saw the truth of it in them, because while Madanach was easily irritated, he could control his emotions – as a mage, he had to. He'd back off, plot revenge or a fightback, but he'd do that as a strategist, doing what needed doing but no more, although he might well enjoy himself in the process. Elisif on the other hand – Elisif was a good person, slow to anger, reasonable, calm… but strongly moral, strongly principled, and her wrath, once roused, would annihilate you. Cullen had seen her type before in the Circle. They made the best mages… and the worst abominations. And so he backed down.

“I suppose it is too late to argue now,” he sighed. “And we did need their help. I just… Herald, there will be consequences. You will have made enemies, and they won't all openly declare themselves.”

“Don't worry, I'll find them,” Leliana promised. “You worry about defending Haven, Josie can deal with the ones who turn up ranting at us – don't look at me like that, Josie, you dealt with Marquis DuRellion admirably – and I will find the ones who smile to our faces and plot when our backs are turned.”

Leliana found herself treated to a broad grin from Madanach.

“I do like her, Elisif,” Madanach said to his wife, who was smiling herself by this point, having appeared to have calmed down. “Leliana, you ever need my help, you just let me know, I have a son-in-law who is _excellent_ at resolving problems on the quiet, you ever need him, he's all yours.”

“Cicero?” Leliana laughed. “I know him, he's adorable. He's been helping train some of the new recruits, his skills are impressive...”

Elisif coughed politely and they both subsided, and Elisif turned her attention back to Cullen, anger gone but still looking sombre.

“I know it won't make me popular, Cullen, but I'm not setting my principles aside when I don't even have to,” Elisif sighed. “We went there to rescue my husband and obtain the free mages' assistance with the Breach. We succeeded. And I saw a vision of what happens if we fail in restoring peace and fixing the sky. Cullen, the consequences if we lose are horrific. Every single person in this room, dead. The sky, gone. Wild demons everywhere, a sixth Blight, all Thedas and for all I know, Tamriel too, under the rule of the Elder One behind all this. Haven was destroyed, Cullen, levelled by an army of corrupted Templars. I don't know if there's time to save them, but if not, we need to be ready.”

“The Templars are not going to listen to the woman who offered the mages freedom, I can tell you that now,” Cullen said bitterly. “But I suppose we could at least try to reach them. Leliana, could you send scouts to try and find them?”

“I've tried but they're in the old Seeker fortress at Therinfal Redoubt, they're heavily armed and dangerous, and the news we've backed the mages will likely get there first. They'll kill Inquisition people on sight and won't trust any strangers. I can't risk my scouts without troop support,” Leliana sighed.

“If you send Inquisition forces, they'll take that as a declaration of war!” Josephine protested. “It could provoke the very attack you fear!”

“Hire mercs then, the Inquisition's good for the coin, right?” Madanach said wearily. “What about that Qunari, The Iron Bull? Isn't he a mercenary captain?”

“Yes,” said Elisif, seizing on that. “We'll send the Chargers to look into it – Leliana, can you send some people discreetly in support? I don't think we can negotiate, but if they're going to turn on us, we need to know just what to expect. As for Haven, we need to shore up the defences, or find somewhere safer to go.”

“I'll see what I can do with regards to the trebuchets, but in all honesty, if we're attacked in force, we're in trouble,” Cullen sighed. “Haven isn't a fortress. But I can have some caches of supplies hidden out there in case we need to leave in a hurry.”

“And I'll look into securing promises of support in case we lose everything,” Josephine promised. “I have contacts in Orlais, I know families who had children taken to the Circles. They might be able to help, particularly if we can provide news of their children. We might find another home quicker than you think.”

“Thank you,” Elisif said, relieved her inner council were still behind her. “I don't know what this Corypheus is planning but we need to be prepared for anything. The consequences if we fail are the literal end of the world.”

Josephine didn't react to the name with anything other than mild surprise and Cullen the military man didn't think to question his higher-up's information, but Leliana looked up sharply, and Cassandra reacted with nothing less than shock.

“Corypheus? Are you sure?” Cassandra demanded.

“Yes, he was the Elder One behind all this in the future,” Elisif said, a little intimidated by the disbelief on Cassandra's face. “Madanach in the future wrote me notes, he outright said Corypheus was the man behind all this. Apparently he's a...”

“Former Tevinter magister turned darkspawn, even claiming to be the first,” Leliana said, voice hushed. “I know the story. It's not widely known. The Wardens had him locked up for years. But Elisif… he's dead.”

Madanach's notes had said something of the sort – Varric had claimed to personally have witnessed Corypheus's death. But he'd somehow come back, although no one had known how. Elisif told this to Cassandra, but the Seeker still looked sceptical.

“Elisif, there is no known magic that allows for immortality and resurrection, and we have a witness to the death right here in Haven,” Cassandra said, pursing her lips. “Unless that dwarf was lying to us. All the same, the known aftermath of Hawke's adventures in that Warden fortress Corypheus was trapped in tallies with his story, and Varric seemed very certain. Still, we will question him again.”

“No, I will,” Elisif said swiftly, a bit concerned as to the direction this questioning would take. “He might be mistaken, or… it was Corypheus, I swear it! Something must have happened to preserve his life or his spirit or… something!”

“Did you… see him?” Josephine whispered. “In your vision?”

“No, I… no,” Elisif admitted. “But Madanach was there, he wouldn't lie to me or tell me it was Corypheus if he didn't believe it!”

“A future version of me,” Madanach said quickly, as all eyes turned to him. “But I saw the notes, Elisif brought back, was reading them all on the way here. It's detailed, it's my handwriting, even got my seal, but I never wrote any of it. It's a little disconcerting… but with the stakes as high as that, I wouldn't have wasted my time writing down anything I didn't know to be true. Not to Elisif. The version of me who went to his death to buy Elisif time to get home and stop it all would not have wanted to sabotage that by sending her back with falsehoods. So I say we keep an open mind, give my wife the benefit of the doubt and start looking for leads. Maybe the original is dead but we can't rule out someone using the story, can we?”

“An ancient darkspawn magister would be a hard thing to impersonate, but stranger things have happened,” Josephine admitted, and Leliana was looking thoughtful.

“A cult of Corypheus, venerating his name – the Venatori seemed to think their Elder One was real, but it's possible they might have a High Priest claiming to hear Corypheus's words, a Herald of Corypheus if you will. We cannot rule it out. I will have people look into it,” Leliana promised.

“And I'll get Bull to investigate Therinfal and ready our defences,” Cullen sighed. “Even without Corypheus, we know the Templars will have it in for us now. We need to be ready.”

“And I need to have a word with that dwarf,” Cassandra said grimly. “He had better not have been keeping secrets!” She swept out of the Chantry, and with that, the rest of the inner council also took their leave. They all had things to organise after all.

“I swear it was Corypheus,” Elisif whispered, starting to doubt herself now. “You told me, you wrote it down, you wouldn't have done that if you hadn't thought it was true!”

“I know, love,” Madanach murmured, taking her into his arms. “I know.”

“I believe you, Mama!” 

Maia, now that the grown-ups were no longer talking, had come to rejoin her parents, cuddling her mother and staring up at her adoringly, convinced she could do no wrong. Elisif couldn't help but smile, bending down to pick up her little one.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Elisif told her. “I'm not sure the others did though.”

“No, but they're looking into it anyway, taking precautions against attacks and known sources of opposition, and Leliana came up with a plausible means of reconciling your story with a dead Corypheus according to Varric who, by the way, is not necessarily a reliable source of information. I don't know if it's exactly the truth, but I also know that where you're concerned, anything can happen.” Madanach glanced down and indicated his own weapon and armour. “For evidence of which, look at me, practically raised from the dead. Strange and impossible things happen to you all the time.”

Elisif couldn't deny that.

“So you don't think they think I'm crazy then,” Elisif said, hoping they didn't. Cullen hadn't looked entirely convinced and Cassandra had seemed downright sceptical.

Madanach shook his head. 

“No. They might not agree but they're not arguing and they're taking you seriously. Elisif, cariad, they're doing what you tell them. You weren't wrong when you said this was your Inquisition. Your word carries weight here. You're a true leader to these people.”

Maia was cuddling her and all Elisif could think was why the true leader's little girl wasn't being treated like the princess she was.

“I want to find these kids who were picking on Maia and have a word with their parents,” Elisif said fiercely. “I think I need to speak to Enchanter Vivienne when I can as well.”

“I think so too, but not tonight,” said Madanach, leading her away to where Alistair and Borkul were chatting, Alistair claiming he'd hardly ever killed anyone, apart from all the darkspawn… and the demons… and the apostate blood mages in Kinloch Hold… and the crazy dragon cultists that used to live in the Temple of Sacred Ashes… and the crazy Dwarven paragon in the Deep Roads… and Venatori cultists who'd murdered his father… and Borkul was just laughing and patting him on the back telling him not to worry, he'd fit in just fine in Madanach's court, some of Madanach's best friends had met him in prison. “Maia, why don't you help Alistair and Borkul find their cabin and help them settle in? Your mother and I should probably go after Seeker Pentaghast, make sure she doesn't actually kill Varric.”

“No, she can't kill Varric, he's funny!” Maia cried, appalled.

“We'll make sure she doesn't, darling,” Elisif soothed as she put her down. “Now off you go and show Alistair his quarters, and we'll meet you there later.”

“OK!” And with that, Maia was off, running for the door and loudly telling Alistair to come with her, she'd show him around. And to his credit, Alistair just smiled, picked up his pack and didn't once mention to Maia he'd been here before as he and Borkul followed her out.

“It's going to be all right, isn't it?” Elisif said hopefully, glad to see her child happy, for now anyway.

“It is,” Madanach said, cuddling her as he led her out. “But probably not for Varric if we don't catch up with him.”

“We should definitely do that,” Elisif said, quickening her pace. Maybe he'd inadvertently undermined her in front of her advisers… but for all that, he was still her friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They found Varric being pinned to the perimeter fence just outside the Singing Maiden, clearly having been hauled out of the tavern by an angry Cassandra.

“I swear I wasn't lying!” Varric protested, hands raised. “Corypheus was – is – dead!”

“Then why does the Herald think he's behind the Divine's death? Answer me, dwarf!” Cassandra shouted.

“I don't know, why don't you ask her?” Varric cried. “She's right there with Mr. Herald, talk to her!”

“Cassandra, put him down!” Elisif cried, appalled. She didn't want Varric tortured! Mercifully, Cassandra acquiesced, letting him go, although her suspicions were not assuaged.

“He's sticking to his story, Elisif,” Cassandra said, narrowing her eyes in Varric's direction. “And his description of Corypheus's remains was… disturbingly precise. Are you sure...”

“Yes,” Elisif said, gritting her teeth. “I'm sure. Varric, this is really important. Are you sure Corypheus was dead? That when, wherever, you found him, you really killed him?”

“We killed him!” Varric cried, turning pleading eyes on her next. “Elisif, I swear. We found the guy in an old Dwarven ruin, where he'd been locked up by the Wardens for who knows how long. Hawke woke him up and we killed him. Fire, arrows, magic, stabbing. Bethany was there too, she'll confirm everything when she arrives.”

“Thank you, Varric,” Elisif whispered, feeling hope drain away. Varric might be given to embellishment for the sake of a good story, but Bethany Hawke, from what Elisif had seen and heard, was not. Bethany was calm, sensible, level-headed, responsible… and would never have knowingly left a magister darkspawn like Corypheus alive. Either the information from that future was misleading… or something very strange was going on.

Cassandra let Varric go, standing back as he escaped back to the pub, clearly drawing the same conclusions Elisif had, although she didn't seem happy.

“I will speak with Bethany Hawke when she arrives,” Cassandra sighed. “If her story matches his… Elisif, I know you couldn't have heard that name from any other source, but it is possible that vision you had...”

“It was no vision, it was no trick of the Fade, you saw me disappear!” Elisif snapped. “I was really gone into the future, the whole thing was real!”

“I know,” Cassandra said, but there was doubt in her eyes as she tried to reconcile a Herald she trusted with facts that contradicted her. “Well. No matter. We will find out what is going on. Leliana will turn something up. And in the mean time we have a Breach to close. Our focus must be on that.”

Elisif didn't disagree, and with that Cassandra took her leave, leaving a frustrated Herald wondering if she was going mad.

“Varric might make things up, but Bethany's honest and she can probably tell if something's dead or not,” Elisif said, despairing. “Madanach, what if all that information I brought back's just flat out wrong??”

Madanach put his arms around her, kissing her hair and holding her to him.

“Hey, I wouldn't write all that to us both if it wasn't true. If it was speculation or a rumour, I would have said. If I said Corypheus is behind it, he's behind it.”

“Despite being dead??” Elisif whispered. “How?”

“Then we look for ways in which his memory or things he set in motion before dying might come into play… or ways in which he might have survived all that without anyone realising.” Madanach stepped back and turned her to face him, and he looked concerned. Elisif slowly realised that perhaps things had just got more dangerous than they realised.

“What, you think he faked his death and survived somehow??” Elisif gasped.

“I don't know, but if he could, he might well have done,” Madanach said sombrely. “Who knows what powers an ancient darkspawn magister might have?”

The power to survive an onslaught involving Bethany Hawke, Marian Hawke and Varric Tethras was not something Elisif wanted to hear about Corypheus possessing. She'd clearly have to ask Varric and Bethany both about their encounter, see if she could figure out any way he might have survived.

“Worth asking Alistair too, or Blackwall,” Madanach murmured. “They might know something about how the Blight works. Eola's research might turn up something, but we don't have proper research facilities here and you know what this place's response is to anything it doesn't understand.”

Elisif was beginning to get the picture all too well. All the same, she almost hoped she was wrong. She'd far rather be wrong than have to deal with a virtually immortal darkspawn.

“Herald! My lady, may I have a moment of your time? And… greetings, my lord. It is good to see you again, although I have heard tales from Redcliffe that you no longer recall meeting me?”

Both turned to see a Chantry mother with dark skin and an Orlesian accent approaching. Mother Giselle was seeking them out.

“Wait, you met him?” Elisif said, surprised. “He came to visit the refugees personally?”

“I… did?” Madanach said, confused. “I suppose I must have done… I mean, yes of course I did, Elisif, I'm a caring humanitarian, you know that!”

“Of course,” Elisif said, amused, putting her arms around his waist. “Mother, I'm afraid what you heard is true, thanks to Magister Alexius's time magic, Madanach doesn't remember being Enchanter-General any more.”

Giselle was shaking her head sadly. “The perils of dangerous magic, but I suspect you know that,” she sighed. “You always gave the impression of being in control of yours, and of your people. Many in the refugee camps feared you, but you did help. You brought much needed supplies and you hunted food for us. You brought healers. You saved lives, Madanach. And if your price for this was any information we might have on the rogue templars and mages who had been causing the trouble in the first place, I was happy to tell you the Templars mostly attacked from the west and therefore might be based out along the west road somewhere, and that to the north of the crossroads was a wood known for its arcane provenance called the Witchwood, that a band of apostates might well feel at home in.”

The exact locations of the rogues' base camps, laid waste before Elisif could even get there… because Madanach's MageGuard troops had got there first and dealt with them. With Mother Giselle's help.

“So if you knew the MageGuard were trustworthy, why call us in?” Elisif said, raising an eyebrow. Mother Giselle just shrugged.

“Because it seemed to me that if the Inquisition and MageGuard were both trustworthy, they would be better off working together, and that if one party were not, the other could deal with the problem far better than I could,” Giselle said, and Elisif at this point made a mental note to never write the priestess off as unintelligent or above politics, because calling in the Inquisition as insurance against a possibly unreliable MageGuard was really quite bright of her. “My lady, I told you then I would rather the fightback be led by Andraste's true Herald than by apostates whose history with the Chantry was one of mutual mistrust. I was not going to have you left out. Of course, I did not know at the time Madanach here was your husband… but had I done, that would only have been one more reason to bring you in.”

“So you're all right with me as long as I'm not in charge of operations, she is,” Madanach noted, amused more than anything else. It wasn't an uncommon reaction, after all. Giselle merely inclined her head in acknowledgement.

“A true leader needs to be a unifying force, loved and respected by all,” Giselle said. “Mages are not trusted, my lord. Maybe that is unfair on the majority, but it is what we have. In time, this could be remedied, but we do not have that time. Far better for the Herald to be the leader we need, and for you to provide any aid she might require, hmm?”

Which was fine with Madanach, who had come here solely to find Elisif in the first place, and if she was going to get herself embroiled in the local politics, he certainly wasn't abandoning her to it, and he told Mother Giselle this.

She looked pleasantly surprised by this attitude, clearly having expected resistance – really, Maferath had a lot to answer for. 

“You do surprise me, most noblemen and commanders I meet tend to sideline their wives, where they're involved at all. You continue to defy expectations, Lord Madanach, but then I should expect nothing less. Neither of you are what could be called conventional. For you, that is a strength. Leaders should not be normal. But… your defiance of convention is impacting on your child. That is what I wished to talk to you about.”

“She's being picked on, I heard,” Elisif growled. “Who are these children and where are their parents?”

“And is it the magic or not being Andrastian or something else entirely?” Madanach added. “Helps if I know what exactly I need to shout at them for.”

“That is the crux of the matter,” Giselle admitted. “But it is also not as bad as you fear. The matter was brought to my attention, and I responded by ensuring our teaching moved away from demonising mages using their powers for good, and targeting only those who would misuse their Maker-given gifts, and on welcoming our new mage allies when they arrived. I also spoke with the parents involved. Most were horrified their children had been targeting yours. Even those who did not entirely trust mages or were concerned at the potential worship of heathen gods saw the wisdom of not antagonising someone who could have them thrown out of their homes. There is however, one family – the family of the ringleader. They are from Kirkwall, witnessed the destruction of the Chantry firsthand, and they fear magic. I fear their son has been taking it out on your daughter.”

Elisif looked at Madanach, and both looked at the sky and saw early evening. Early enough to speak with this family.

“Where are they,” Elisif said, taking Madanach's hand in hers. “Let's speak to them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a little bit of a detour while Elisif and Madanach make a few things clear, and then a certain someone else wants to speak with them about Maia as well. A certain someone else in Orlesian hennin who's not pleased about Elisif's attitudes to free mages. ;)


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What starts out as parents protecting their child turns out to have ramifications for Thedosian theology that might one day turn out to be more disruptive than the demons. But frightened citizens are as nothing compared to the reaction of a certain Orlesian First Enchanter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost cut half of this, but seeing as a few of you did in fact want to see more, it's here. I came up with OCs for the Kirkwall family, as the only other family I could think of from Kirkwall was the DeLauncets and I couldn't subject you to that. XD So here we are, Herald and Reach-King going into battle for their daughter.

“Don't – don't come any closer!” the father, a former Kirkwall merchant called Keran DuVal, cried, reached for a woodcutter's axe. “I know what he is! And why he's here! Stay away from my family!”

“Keran!” his terrified wife Lynette cried. Orlesian from her accent, actually a minor noble whose family had lost everything to the Grand Game and sent her fleeing as a young girl to Kirkwall instead. “Keran, no, don't raise a blade to the Herald!”

She had her hands on her son's shoulders, a boy of about seven or so, with a lighter variant of his father's blonde hair. Clearly the one who'd been bullying Maia, because Elisif could see guilt and terror in his eyes. It did soften her a bit. Just a bit.

“Heed your wife, I could take that weapon off you in under five seconds,” said Elisif, not bothering to elaborate on what would happen after that. She wasn't one to murder a man in front of his family after all.

“Elisif, sure you don't want me to fetch Borkul?” Madanach asked, mage armour cast and gleaming in the cabin's dim light. “He's got form with this sort of thing.”

“No, darling, I think this is best handled by us personally,” Elisif said sweetly. “Now. The DuVals, isn't it? Orlesian descent but living in Kirkwall, fled the city after the trouble with the mages and came to Haven because the holiest site in the Chantry was likely to be neutral territory. I don't suppose you expected a new war to break out and an Inquisition to form on your doorstep, and I can understand this is quite the shock… but please tell me why it's necessary for little Dion over there to call my daughter a heathen maleficar? May I remind you she's five?”

“Ma,” Dion was whispering. “Ma, I didn't mean… you and Pa said magic was a curse!”

“It's blighted our family, drove us from our home, you're damn right it's a curse!” Keran cried, but Elisif could tell he was more afraid than anything else. She reached out a hand to hold Madanach back, because he was never reasonable on this sort of thing. Fortunately, Mother Giselle was rarely anything but.

“Serah DuVal,” Giselle said, stepping forward with hands outstretched. “It is true that magic has wrought much suffering in the world, maybe even in your own family. But none of that is little Maia's fault… and her mother is here to try and make peace. Please, messere, put down your weapon. There will be no blood shed today.”

Keran shook his head but did as asked. The presence of the Herald of Andraste and a Chantry Mother had a way of talking him down.

“She's bringing them here, Mother!” he cried. “The entire bloody mage rebellion, the ones who started the whole trouble in the first place, here! They blew up half the city, Mother!”

“That was the actions of one apostate, and the tensions had been brewing for some time,” Giselle soothed. “We cannot keep fighting forever. At some point we must lay down our weapons and sue for peace. The future of mages in Thedas will eventually be decided by the next Divine, but in a Divine's absence, we must negotiate in the interim. And the Herald could not break up her own family, nor ask others to do what she will not.”

“The Herald's family!” Keran laughed bitterly, wiping at his eyes. “What about o- everyone else's?? All our lives we've been told magic broke the world, that it's dangerous, that anyone cursed by it has to be taken away for everyone's safety, and now you just overturn that?? All of a sudden it's all right??” Angrily, he swept past Giselle to advance on Elisif, furious.

“Why does your kid get protected and everyone else's sent away?” Keran roared at her, and Elisif could feel not just Madanach's fury in her mind, but the prickle of his magic at her back, and Keran DuVal was a dead man if he didn't back down… if she didn't defuse this. 

“Keran!!” Lynette cried. “Keran, let it go, we said we'd forget for Dion's sake!” Real fear in her eyes as she tried to shield her son, no doubt terrified Madanach's magic would rip another hole in her family.

“How do you forget your firstborn son??” he shouted, face reddened as he turned on his wife… and then anger gave way to grief as he covered his face, a man ashamed… and grieving.

“Pa?” Dion whispered. “Pa, you said Gerard had died...”

“He might as well have, the entire Circle tore itself to pieces after that madman blew the Chantry up,” Keran gasped. “We'll never see him again. Lynette, I...”

Lynette had let her son go and taken her husband in her arms, kissing him and holding him while he shuddered, silent tears wracking his body, and it was always worse when men cried somehow, because they usually went to such great lengths not to.

Behind her, Madanach's magic had shut off and she could feel the awkward guilt coming from him as he moved nearer, no doubt feeling their pain all too well. Fervently anti-magic because it had taken their son.

“The Templars told us, the Chantry told us, everybody told us!” Lynette gasped, tears on her own face as she looked up. “That there was no choice. That he had to go to the Circle for his own good, and we should just forget about him. Then it all fell apart and we didn't even know if he was still alive! The mages fled and no one would tell us anything and… We came here to get away from the war, Herald, and it finds us anyway, and now you tell us we just have to accept the mages as citizens like us? We lost our son because it was for his own good and you tell us it didn't have to be that way? You tell the whole Chantry where to go when it comes to your daughter, but we had to surrender our son? He was five years old as well when the magic took him! He'd be nine now...”

“I'm sorry,” Elisif whispered, taking Madanach's hand in her own as he came to put his arms around her and she could feel his own emotions, sadness, guilt… hope?

“Serah,” she heard Madanach say. “I think your son's alive. And I may be able to find him. He's still mastering his abilities, so I don't know if he could live with you full-time… but you could see him.”

“What?” both DuVals gasped, and Elisif hadn't seen that coming.

“But… the Chantry...” Lynette gasped, turning to a smiling Mother Giselle.

“The Chantry also denounced the Herald as a heretic, and yet here we all are following her,” Giselle said calmly, joining both parents and taking their hands in hers. “It is often easy to forget that Chantry Mothers, even the Divine herself, are no more than mortal women, doing their best to interpret the Maker's Will and Andraste's Word, and that Andraste's Holy Chant itself is the result of many years of discussion and debate, much of which did not get settled until centuries after her death. It is possible for what we think of as set in stone and unquestionable to later turn out to be simply… wrong. And oftentimes it takes an outsider's eyes to make us see. A mother from a culture where mages are not imprisoned who refused to let her own child suffer that fate, a father who saw no will of the Maker but merely injustice and pledged himself to fight it. A little girl who stared up at her parents and wanted to know why, and they had no answer for her. I will not pretend there will not be trouble ahead, but Andraste calls us, always, to do what is right, not what is easy.” Giselle smiled then, inclining her head. “And if your son is restored to you, it does not have to be without its benefits.”

Lynette promptly burst into tears, clinging to her husband, while Keran was tearfully shaking Mother Giselle's hand with the one that wasn't comforting his wife, even as Dion was confused and wanting to know what was happening.

“You're getting your brother back,” Lynette whispered, drying her eyes and kneeling down to talk to her son. “Dion, son, I'm sorry. We didn't know… but he's alive! And… and he can come back to us. The mages will be training him but he can come back. You're going to have a brother again!”

“Oh,” Dion whispered, confused. “But Ma, isn't magic a curse?”

“No,” Madanach cut in tersely, at the same time Elisif nudged him and offered a more nuanced answer.

“It depends what you use it for,” Elisif told him, kneeling down next to the boy. “Accidents can happen, and sometimes people do bad things with it, but you could say the same about fire itself. We still need it.”

Dion didn't look convinced, in fact he was glaring.

“You don't even worship Andraste, Maia was saying the Maker was a dragon called Akatosh who hadn't abandoned us because he'd sent you.”

By the Eight. Elisif really hadn't expected this to come up quite so soon and clearly a conversation was going to have to be had with Maia about not telling all the Andrastians they were wrong all the time. Elisif had a feeling faith wasn't that strong among the mages so it just hadn't come up, in fact from what Elisif had heard, some of them had even converted to worshipping the Eight.

Such was not the case in Haven, and Elisif could see trouble brewing if this wasn't handled right.

“How do any of us know she's wrong?” Elisif said quietly. “The Maker has to have a name, and he could take any form he wanted, right? Is it so wrong that when he appeared to my ancestors, he took a dragon's form? If I wanted to impress a tribe of mortals and could shapeshift, I'd look like a dragon too. And a woman definitely appeared to me and sent me here to help. I called her Kyne but she said she'd had many names. I think she might have been Andraste once. And if Akatosh and Andraste sent me here, that means they haven't abandoned us, right?”

Dion was absorbing all this, not sure what to make of it all, but seeming to accept it.

“Are you gonna make the demons go away and fix the sky?” he said warily. 

“Yes, if I can,” Elisif promised. “But I need the free mages to help me do it, which is why they're coming here. Can't ask them for help and just shut them up in Circles again after, that's hardly fair!”

More nodding and a shrug from Dion, who seemed to think that was fair enough.

“Is Maia gonna shout at me with her magic again?” Dion asked warily. “Cos that hurt!”

Stifled snickering from Madanach, and Elisif realised she seriously needed a talk with her daughter on not using the Thu'um on other children.

“Did she shout at you before or after you called her names?” Elisif said wearily. “And Madanach, hush! You're not helping!”

“What? She didn't get the Thu'um from me,” Madanach said, smirking. “Also I heard there was hair-pulling. You can't pull her hair after she's laid you out with the Thu'um.”

A bit of prodding, and Dion did eventually admit that perhaps he'd called her a heathen and had his mates corner Maia claiming heathens must be punished, and then one of the girls had grabbed her hair and that was when she'd Shouted him back and fled, and then she'd barely left that elf's side, and that elf didn't act like normal elves, she walked tall like a human and didn't act respectful or frightened or anything.

“She's a High Elf, they don't,” Madanach remarked, seeming no less proud of Liriel than of Maia. “And we will speak with Maia, but you ought to know we trained her to be able to defend herself if attacked. And I am fairly certain she's also been brought up to believe in protecting the innocent, prosecuting the guilty, standing up for fairness and justice, all that. And that it'll be her job to do all that one day, so best to get started now.”

“We'll make sure he leaves her alone,” Keran promised, glaring at his son and shaking his head, and while Lynette had a tendency to dote on her one remaining baby, it wasn't absolute, as was proved by her taking her son aside to scold him. “Serah, we're sorry, we're good people, we don't mean any harm, we were just following what the Chantry always told us, I… we'll make sure Dion doesn't bother Maia, you have our word, and if you can find Gerard, we'll be in your debt...”

Elisif and Madanach both promised they'd try, and with that they took their leave, Mother Giselle accompanying them. It was getting dark by this point, and Madanach cast a candle-light to light the way up the path to Haven's centre.

“Well, that went well,” Elisif said brightly. “Lucky for us we knew their kid – Madanach, are you sure that's him?”

“His name's Gerard, he's the right sort of age, he's from Kirkwall, looks like the other kid a bit, it's probably him but I'll do a kinfinder to verify this,” Madanach promised. “We were talking about reuniting Circle mages with their families if they wanted, may as well start now. Them leaving Maia alone as a result is a happy side benefit.”

“It is true. You did well,” Mother Giselle said quietly. “But I do not know if you truly understand what you just did. You spoke of your own gods for the first time. This Maker god, Akatosh, and is Kyne another?”

“She's the goddess of the sky,” Elisif said. “She's the one who gave mortals the same Shouting ability Akatosh had and she's the one I invoked to heal Madanach. The woman who turned up sent me here. I don't know it wasn't Andraste?”

“Indeed,” Giselle said, approving. “But what you have done is suggest a synthesis. That your Akatosh god is our Maker, that Andraste may be his bride, and the other gods you have? Real but never working here, or operating under different names? Or working here all along without needing recognition, which may make them worthy of worship themselves, more so than a Chantry which has proved itself flawed.”

“Mother Giselle, are you converting?” Madanach teased. Giselle shook her head, brow furrowing.

“No. I have always been of the belief that we serve the Maker through our deeds, not what we profess, and that he cares not what name we call him, so long as we do what is right. It is pointless arguing what view of the Maker is right when people are starving and dying. I remain Andrastian because it is what I know, but for all I know the Eight were with me all along. It has not mattered so far, for me it will not matter in future. But others may not be so easy to convince. Nevertheless, it is important that you made the attempt. I do not think even a united Thedas could stand against you militarily, and I would not wish Thedas to be invaded. War over the Maker's name will benefit no one in the end.”

It would not, but Elisif was keen to find out just how Thedas was really going to react to the civilisation of heathens, because the last thing she wanted was to save Thedas then have to invade it as Empress of Tamriel because someone had declared an Exalted March.

“So how do we make sure it doesn't happen then,” Elisif said, lowering her voice, fairly certain no one was actually listening in, but it didn't hurt to take chances.

“I am no politician, Herald. No strategist or diplomat,” Giselle said, raising an eyebrow. “There is a reason I never made it to Grand Cleric. Too many enemies, and I never mastered the art of staying silent. But one thing I have noticed in all my years, and that is that it is often not the argument itself that seals matters but who makes it. I would worry less about what you are saying and more on being the sort of person who the masses will follow wherever you lead. Be the one they have faith in, and you will find the doctrinal disputes will resolve themselves.”

“Well that's all right then!” Madanach chimed in, flinging an arm round his wife's shoulders. “She's good at that, aren't you, Elisif?”

“Stop it,” Elisif told him, blushing a little. Madanach grinned and kissed her on the cheek as he cuddled her, and Elisif had to wonder if there was some sort of law against public displays of affection in front of a Chantry Mother, because this was getting a little awkward. Mercifully, he let her go and settled for just holding her hand instead.

Mother Giselle was just smiling indulgently.

“I think you will find a way,” she told them. “In the meantime, you have given me much to think about. Our most pressing concerns are to do with the Breach and locating the Divine's murderers, I know that. But when that is done, we must give thought on how we will live together.”

Reunite a few more families with their lost children, and Elisif had a feeling things might be all right. It wouldn't be easy, but what was? 

Be a hero. Be the Herald of Andraste who saved them all. Elisif felt she could manage that. Maybe then she could persuade people to live in peace with Tamriel and not lock up mages on top of that. 

But that was for later. For now, save people. For now, tell Maia she'd be safe from other kids. And then do as Cassandra suggested: close the Breach, find out who killed the Divine and end them… and then see what consequences were left to be paid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was all going so well as they made their way back to the cabin in the early evening, Haven's lights present in sufficient quantity to see easily by, Mother Giselle making her way back to the Chantry, and Elisif and Madanach heading home with their arms linked, feeling happy and carefree for just a few precious minutes.

It lasted right up until they got back to Elisif's cabin to find Borkul and Alistair folding their arms and staring down an impossibly stylish dark-skinned woman in a high-collared Orlesian mage coat, staff at her back. Enchanter Vivienne, clearly here about… well, either the free mages or possibly Maia, presently peeping out from behind the door of the cabin, eyes wide and frightened.

“No, I don't know where she is. Herald's business is her own. So is the boss's,” Borkul snorted. “You want to talk to her, come see her in the morning. Or get Josephine to make you an appointment.”

“And no doubt be given the same diplomatic runaround she gives to all her unwanted visitors, no thanks,” Vivienne sniffed. She noticed Borkul's grimace and rolled her eyes. “Don't mistake me, darling, I don't disapprove. It's her job and she does it well. Only I have no wish to be subjected to it personally. My dear, I simply wished to inquire about the Herald's plans for her child and that child's education. It cannot have escaped your notice the girl is a mage.”

Maia cried out from the shadows, sounding on the verge of tears, and then Alistair stepped forward, looking surprised.

“What, is she? Really?? You mean those pretty special effects aren't real? That fancy ball-gown she had me wearing doesn't actually exist?? Maia! I liked that dress! The turquoise went with my eyes!”

Stifled laughter from Madanach, which was a relief as she'd felt his own emotions start to rise up until that point. Maia's cries had also turned from heartbreak to giggling.

“No, that's silly, I never put you in a ball-gown, you'd look silly!” Maia giggled. Alistair turned to pout at her, lip jutting out as he deployed the famous sad eyes that had invariably broken down the Hero of Ferelden's will on a number of occasions before now.

“Don't I get to look like a princess then?” Alistair asked. “I don't get to look pretty?”

Mercifully Maia was saved from having to answer by Vivienne clearing her throat.

“Excuse me, but we have a barely trained mage child running around and I've yet to hear a coherent answer on the subject from either of you. I'll ask again – where is her mother??”

“You can still do that magic extinguishing thing, right?” Borkul asked Alistair, who just nodded.

“Oh god yes, you never forget it once you've learned. How long do you think it would take to hypothetically get her staff off her and leave it in pieces on the floor, knowing her magic was out?”

“About five seconds, maybe ten if she's trained to wield it like a quarterstaff,” Borkul said thoughtfully. “Look, we've been patient, but we're bodyguards, not the Herald's secretaries. We ain't hired to be polite, we're paid to get rid of annoyances. Right now, you are being pretty damn annoying, so if you don't want that outfit ruined...”

Definitely time to step in, because her husband's bodyguard assaulting the leader of the Loyalist mages would just be a terrible idea all round. Elisif cleared her throat and stepped into the light, dragging Madanach with her, one hand in hers to make it that bit less likely he'd start flinging spells around.

“That won't be necessary. Borkul, Alistair, stand down. I'll speak with her.”

“That's surprisingly reasonable, I'd expected you to be avoiding me,” Vivienne noted as Borkul backed off, not happy but obeying orders, particularly as Madanach was also nodding at him to stay back.

“Welcome to Haven, Vivienne,” Elisif told her, taking a leaf out of Josie's book and resorting to civility. “I trust you're settling in? I would have tracked you down sooner but I had to meet with my council, deal with a few other issues, ensure the mages were settling in...”

“Yes, the mages,” Vivienne interrupted. “Herald, if you need mage assistance in larger numbers than anyone else had available, I won't question you bringing the malcontents on board, but is what I heard true?? You've offered them freedom??”

Elisif steeled herself and nodded. Right thing to do, she reminded herself. Stick to your word, it's a matter of principle. Except with Vivienne staring down at her, it no longer seemed quite that simple.

“Yes,” Elisif said, tightening her grip on Madanach's hand. “I did.” Don't excuse, don't explain. Advice from General Tullius, that. You didn't owe your subordinates an explanation. Just give them their orders and sufficient details to carry them out, and let them get on with it. So Elisif decided to try that here.

“I see,” Vivienne said, clearly seeing where this was going. “And had you given any thought to how everyone else is going to react to this… impulse of yours? Do you have any idea how the common people of Thedas are going to react to knowing maleficars and apostates can walk their streets at leisure? There will be lynch mobs, Herald. Deaths. All entirely avoidable.”

“Then we'd better see about avoiding them, hadn't we?” Elisif said sweetly. “It's mostly the Chantry who lectures the common people on the evils of magic, isn't it? Well, presently their credibility is nowhere, so when the common people of Thedas see the Chantry flailing while the Herald's greeting mages as friends, perhaps they'll rethink. At the moment, I'd say the demons are the bigger risk to people.”

“For now,” Vivienne replied, eyes narrowing. “But eventually the Breach will be sealed, as will many of the rifts, and people will ask what caused it. They will see magic, and they will want to see it tamed and made safe.”

Soft chuckle from Madanach, and Vivienne turned her gaze on him. It was enough to make him stop laughing but not enough to wipe the smirk off his face. 

“I don't believe you and I have been introduced,” she said icily, looking over the black leather and Vale-cat fur lined ensemble. “You're with the Herald, so you must be of some importance and yet… Maker help us all, are you Madanach by any chance?”

“That's me,” Madanach grinned. “And you're Enchanter Vivienne. I've heard of you. You're the one who likes to play the good mage, profiting off a system that uses you as a token, a mask to hide the rot, and that hates you even as it rewards you. Yeah. I know you.”

The barest flicker of… something… in Vivienne's eyes, and something in his words had struck a chord, but to her credit, she didn't let it derail her. 

“I don't think you know the barest detail about me, if I'm honest,” Vivienne remarked, looking him over distastefully. “And you're married. To the Herald.”

“Yes,” Madanach said, putting an arm round Elisif, who snuggled up next to him and grinned. It really was nice to have a loving and supportive wife, Madanach after all this time still wasn't used to it.

“He helped me avenge my first husband and save my people, and I freed his out of gratitude. And because it was the right thing to do,” Elisif explained, looking pointedly at Vivienne.

“Yes, don't think I'm not noticing a theme here, Herald,” Vivienne sighed. “Is the peace you brokered lasting?”

“Seems to be,” Elisif said, shrugging. She was however a little too slow to hide the worry flickering in her eyes – what was going on back home, and would the peace between Skyrim and the Reach survive her absence? Alas for her, Vivienne noticed it.

“But will it survive without you personally being there to oversee it?” Vivienne purred. “After all, your husband brought Maia here, didn't he? He didn't think to leave her at home, where she'd surely be safer, hmm?”

“I had my reasons,” was all Madanach was prepared to say on that one.

“Of course you did, darling,” Vivienne purred. “Well, no matter, I daresay you'll find out what sort of state your home's in when you return there. Hopefully, Thedas will remain stable when you've left. Elisif, my dear, if you're willing to grant the mages their… freedom, then I can hardly stop you, and if it keeps them sweet while we still need them, then I suppose it will have to do. But don't think I won't be watching them. There is also the matter of your child. Little Maia, is it?”

“Mama, don't listen to her!” Maia cried from the doorway, and Alistair subtly moved to position himself between her and Vivienne.

“Maia, hush,” Elisif said firmly, before turning back to Vivienne, protective maternal instincts rising. “What exactly about my daughter? I'm not handing her over to a Circle. That was never going to happen.”

“Darling, you're a noble, no one was going to suggest it,” Vivienne sighed. “But you must have given some thought to her magical education, hmm? Even you must agree the girl cannot be allowed to go completely untrained.”

“Daddy's teaching me!” Maia wailed, at the same time that Elisif told her to hush, and Madanach finally decided he'd had enough.

“Elisif, why don't you see to our daughter, hmm? I can deal with this.”

He'd not seen Elisif look quite so grateful in some time. And so Elisif ushered Maia inside, telling her to calm down, Daddy would sort it out, Maia still looking worried but not actually crying as the door closed behind her.

“All right,” Madanach said, all geniality fading. “You have political differences with my wife or myself, that's part of the game, I get that. You start interfering with our daughter, I will flay you alive. Her magical education is not your concern, it is mine, and I assure you, she will turn into a fine mage. Like her sisters before her.”

Vivienne's expression had also clouded over as she narrowed her eyes, looking him over shrewdly.

“Yes, you're a mage, aren't you. A powerful one, from the look of it, despite the fact you're completely uncivilised.”

Madanach did have to smile at that, not even bothering to get offended at that one. 

“Magic's completely uncivilised,” Madanach said, shrugging. “It's not safe. It's not tame. It's a force of nature. Maybe you can make use of it, but you can't just dam it up and think nothing will go wrong. For which, behold the state of Thedas.”

“And you'd what, just let it run free?” Vivienne sniffed. “Let this dangerous force of nature loose in our towns and cities?”

“I have it policing mine,” Madanach purred. “I've got an entire country back home, and the city guard and armed forces are nearly all mages to some degree or other.” 

The horrified look on Vivienne's face was something that warmed Madanach's heart… and then she frowned, something almost like curiosity in her eyes. 

“What, really? And that works? There aren't any uprisings? None of your neighbours have invaded?”

“We signed up to the E- to a pan-national non-aggression agreement, the neighbours on one side also use magic, are ethnically similar and too busy squabbling amongst themselves to bother me, in fact half of them keep wanting me to assassinate the other lot. As for the neighbours on the other side, I married their queen. It had a way of keeping them sweet.”

Vivienne's expression was unreadable, and Madanach began to wonder if he'd perhaps gone too far. Should he have mentioned home at all? To Vivienne, of all people?

Mercifully, she dropped the subject, returning back to Maia. 

“Madanach, darling, did you know your daughter can summon nugs?” Vivienne said sweetly. “Some sort of illusion spell that broke their minds and had them fawning all over her. Needless to say, I put a stop to it. You might want to keep an eye on her before she starts using mind control magic on humans.”

“She's not going to use mind control magic on humans,” Madanach sighed, quietly wondering what a nug was. “If she has her own cult of devoted worshippers in adulthood, that is entirely going to be her mother's influence, not mine.”

“Why do I even bother – fine, Madanach, have it your way,” Vivienne sighed. “But I will be keeping an eye on you. Good evening, my dear.” 

With that, Vivienne swept off, snow swirling behind her. Madanach could already feel himself getting a headache. This one was going to be trouble.

“Are you sure you don't want me to –?” Borkul asked, sidling up to him. Madanach waved him off, taking note of the vaguely alarmed expression on Alistair's face and deciding Vivienne was a bit too high-profile to actually have assassinated. Plus being a bit notorious was one thing – actually having someone like Alistair staring at him like he was a monster had a way of putting Madanach off acting dishonourably. Damn it.

“Leave her,” Madanach sighed. “She's not actually done anything to harm us, not yet. She's not even completely unreasonable. You saw the way her eyes lit up when I mentioned home. The Avvar tribe cover story Elisif had going does not encompass anything involving a city. Vivienne has literally never thought of a place other than Tevinter where mages rule. I wager the prospect of another one might just intrigue her.”

“It intrigues me!” Alistair piped up, and Madanach really did like this man.

“Well if you're good, maybe we'll take you to visit,” Madanach promised. “In the meantime, if you two gentlemen can excuse me, I have a wife and daughter to tend to.”

Borkul and Alistair both said their goodnights and made their way back to their hut. Leaving Madanach to find out just how panicked his little girl was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“All right Maia, what in Kynareth's name is a nug and what did you do to them??” Madanach announced cheerfully as he re-entered the cabin, to find Elisif changed out of her armour and kneeling down next to an anxious-looking Maia who didn't look any less unhappy.

“I didn't mean it!” Maia wailed, distraught. “I was just playing! I'm sorry, Daddy!”

She looked like she was about to burst into tears, and Elisif drew Maia into her arms and sat her on her lap, cuddling her and soothing her while glaring at Madanach.

“Don't tease her, Madanach,” Elisif said tersely. “Nugs are those weird little pink things that look like hairless rabbits. They live out by the lake and in the woods round here, and Varric reckons they're edible. Not sure I'd want to eat one myself, mind.”

Elisif shuddered a little at the thought and Maia outright cried.

“Nooo, you can't hurt the nugs, they're nice!” Maia sobbed, and Madanach felt his heart softening towards his little girl, kneeling down next to her mother and patting Maia's back.

“All right, cariad, we won't hurt the nugs,” Madanach murmured. “Listen, Enchanter Vivienne seems pretty annoyed about whatever you were doing to them. She seems to think you were doing some sort of ritual to summon the nugs to do your bidding and declare war on your enemies.”

“Nooo, I was just playing!” Maia sobbed, actually crying by this point. “Enchanter Vivienne's a wicked witch! I wasn't doing anything wrong, I wasn't Mama, I wasn't!”

The cabin actually vibrated at that and Elisif pulled Maia closer as she bawled her eyes out into Elisif's shirt, Elisif staring daggers at her husband. 

“You are not helping!” Elisif said firmly. “Maia, darling, hush now, it's all right, pixie, it's all right. You're not in trouble, but I do need to know what you were doing.”

So Mama whispered about how she'd seen the nugs and liked them but they'd kept running away, and Liriel had said they were just scared, so Maia had used illusion spells to make them not scared and then encouraged them to come and talk to her, and then they'd all come to say hello. Until Enchanter Vivienne had broken the spell and scared them away.

“And now she's worried you might do the same to people,” Elisif sighed wearily. “Madanach, can illusion magic do that?”

“On its own? No,” Madanach admitted. “It can augment your charisma, push people a little into paying you attention, possibly even holding their attention or even nudging the undecided into backing you, but doing all of that would take a lot of skill and magicka. Might make Maia a better public speaker and fire up people who already were loyal to her, but the illusions would wear off eventually. Unless they already were loyal to her, they might be angry at being manipulated after. She wouldn't get away with it for long. Vivienne doesn't know what she's talking about, and honestly this was fairly harmless from the sounds of it. Although likely to unnerve Thedosians.”

“What doesn't?” Elisif sighed. “I cast a magelight the other night because I couldn't see what I was doing and Cassandra nearly had a fit. Demanded to know when I'd learnt magic, and why hadn't I told her I was a mage. It took me an hour to calm her down and convince her I wasn't one, I was pretty useless at magic but had just tried learning a few spells so I could understand what my husband and daughter and in-laws were talking about. I don't entirely think she believed me.”

The Thedosian concept of a magic binary again – honestly the whole thing gave Madanach a headache every time it came up, because it just wasn't true. Magical abilities came on a spectrum and even then they could be developed in most people with the right training. As for demonic possession, running afoul of the Daedra wasn't unique to mages either, it was just a bit more likely. Somehow, none of the Thedosians seemed to find this reassuring.

“Well, Maia, you're not in trouble,” Madanach sighed. “Just make sure not to use spells like that on people. Not a good idea to mess with people's minds. They don't like it. And if you want to play with the nugs again, do it away from Vivienne. Fiona's bringing the rest of the mages from Redcliffe in a day or two, you might be all right in the mage camp. They might be impressed. Might have to start calling you Maia the Nug-Whisperer.”

To his surprise, Maia stood up and shook her head.

“No, I'm Maia Dragon-Rider,” Maia said firmly. “I already have one honour-name, I don't need two.”

Elisif was smiling fondly at Maia and stroking her back, but Madanach had to think about this one. Because Maia on first hearing the name had wailed and protested and Madanach hadn't realised she'd changed her mind on the subject since.

“I thought you didn't like being called that?” Madanach demanded. Maia just smiled at him.

“I didn't. But Mama explained they weren't making fun of me after all and I don't mind it now,” Maia said, apparently now quite calm about the name and intent on keeping it.

Madanach honestly didn't know what to say to that, other than wonder how Elisif had managed to talk their little girl into accepting it in about five minutes when he'd not managed it at all, and promptly start to wonder if maybe he wasn't actually that good at parenting, followed by the realisation Elisif had had several years of a headstart on Maia and by this point knew her very well indeed.

It was a dispiriting thought indeed to think maybe he'd never catch up. And so he sat quietly while they had dinner and put the dishes out for collection while Elisif put Maia to bed, coming back in time to kiss Maia goodnight, and Frogella too, and promising he'd take her to see the beginnings of the mage camp in the morning. 

It was only after they'd settled Maia that Elisif settled next to him on their bed with a bottle of ale waving in his direction.

“Something is bothering you. Talk to me,” Elisif said, in a voice there was never really any arguing with. So Madanach accepted the inevitable and decided to at least make the attempt to talk about his feelings.

“She really loves you,” Madanach said quietly, brooding as he took the offered ale. “Maia, that is.”

“I am her mother, darling,” Elisif said, nestling beside him and cuddling him. “What did you expect?”

“I know, I know, I just… I've never really co-parented before,” Madanach sighed. “Mireen I was practically at war with, with Inga I couldn't even admit I was the other parent until after she died, and Sofie and Aventus don't call you mother. But you've been looking after Maia alone for the last three years. You know her really well. How do I compete with that?”

Silence from Elisif and then the drink was being removed from his hands and placed on the bedside cabinet as Elisif pushed him back into the pillows.

“It's not a competition,” Elisif whispered as she climbed on top of him. “It's not a fight to see who loves who the most. She loves you too, you know! And you and she are both mages, you can have long, lengthy discussions about that, you can show her things, she'd like that! And you've been looking after her all this time since I left Tamriel, you must have got to know her by now!”

“Yeah, and all I remember about Redcliffe is hiding her away so Alexius didn't find her and that it broke her heart,” Madanach sighed. “I've got three years to catch up on, and she already adores you. She thinks you can do anything. Whereas she's seen me not be able to do anything. Aren't kids supposed to think their parents are all-powerful at that age?”

“They always realise otherwise eventually,” Elisif said, snuggling against him and kissing his neck. “Madanach, don't take it personally. She adores you and worries about you. You're important to her! And tomorrow you're going to take her to look round the mage camp, and when I next have to leave on Inquisition business, you'll be there to look after her. Just be patient and take your time. There might come a time you end up closer to her than I am.”

Madanach wasn't quite so convinced of that, but being patient and playing the long game was something he could do. And right now his wife was straddling him, her fingers working the clasps on his gear, and if they were quiet, they wouldn't wake Maia, who was tucked up in bed out in the little ante-room.

So Madanach smiled and kissed his wife and afterwards, was in too good a mood to worry about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Eola surveyed the laboratory setup the Inquisition had so kindly made available to her. A nice little study set aside for her in the Chantry's basement, and along the corridor, the cells were now home to her prized samples. Excellent. Isolation but not too far away. She'd have all she needed down here to do her research.

“Hello, my sweetling,” Cicero purred in her ear, having made no noise at all as he'd approached. Eola gasped, not used to Cicero sneaking up on her. Well, normally he had at least one child running after him or clinging on to him. Being around him without the kids was… different. Not unwelcome. But different.

“Hey,” Eola gasped. “What are you doing down here? I thought you'd got sleeping accommodation alongside that Qunari, The Iron Bull?”

Of course Eola knew about that. Cicero usually told her these things. Especially if it was likely to be an ongoing connection, and they'd be stuck with the Chargers for a while. It was best for everyone if Cicero was honest, which he was, and for Eola to be nice to Iron Bull. Which she could manage.

Cicero grinned and glanced over his shoulder at the pack and sleeping roll in the corridor behind him – wait, sleeping roll? He'd brought his sleeping gear down here?

“Oh but Eola, Cicero cannot stay there forever!” Cicero purred. “Cicero and Iron Bull are both grown men who have been at this a long time. We knew what it was going in. An enjoyable time was had by all, Cicero got a nice warm bed when otherwise he might have ended up asleep on the cold hard earth, and Cicero still has a standing invitation to inveigle his way into the big Qunari's smallclothes if he wishes. But we both knew it was nothing serious. Why, Cicero has it on good authority Bull has made fruitful overtures to one of the Chantry sisters already.”

“One of the sisters?? Daedra, he moves fast,” Eola said, rather approving of a man who'd see nothing wrong with going straight for one of the priestesses. Men and women of the cloth were always the biggest deviants in Eola's experience. But it also wasn't her concern. Cicero was grinning rather craftily at her, and that look typically only meant one thing.

“So, does that mean you're looking for alternative accommodation then?” Eola purred, and Cicero's grin widened as he stepped forward and kissed her. It was some time before either were ready to talk again.

“You are Cicero's wife, beloved!” Cicero murmured, wrapping his arms around Eola and nuzzling just under her right ear. “Cicero came all this way, _left the children behind,_ in order to make sure you came to no harm. Cicero is not just abandoning you! Cicero stays with you. If… if you'll have him.”

Eola felt her heart melt as she pulled him in for a cuddle. Of course she would. Cicero didn't judge, Cicero was always affectionate, Cicero mostly did what he was told, and Cicero was still really rather pretty. 

“Are you going to be all right though?” Eola whispered. “With the darkspawn and the red lyrium samples? That stuff can make people… hear things. Or see things. It messes with people's heads!”

And Cicero's head was messed up enough already, but she didn't tell him that. Cicero's face softened as he stroked her cheek.

“And if it messes with yours, pretty wife?” Cicero whispered, serious for once. “Who gets you to safety, hmm? Who looks after you? Who makes sure that you are not affected? That you do not end up turning into a monster?”

Eola couldn't help but laugh at that.

“Sweetie,” Eola laughed. “I'm _already_ a monster. You know that. We both are. That's why we _work._ ”

Cicero giggled, a dark, filthy giggle that made Eola remember why she loved him. 

“Yes, I know,” he said fondly. “But you are still you. If you suddenly started becoming… not you. What then? Who will truly know if not humble Cicero??”

“And if you're affected, not me?” Eola asked, genuinely a bit worried about Cicero so close to the lyrium. Cicero just shrugged.

“Then Eola looks out for Cicero changing. But in the meantime, Cicero is not being away from you if he can help. You were a prisoner, beloved! Cicero was worried!”

“I heard Cicero was palling around with an elf girl called Sera,” Eola murmured in his ear, having heard all about her, but not from Cicero. “Gonna tell me about her too?”

Cicero looked surprised, blinked, and then began laughing, throwing his head back and cackling merrily away.

“Eola thought… thought that Cicero… and Sera… oh that is funny, Eola, that is hilarious!” Cicero giggled. “Sera is very nice, very funny, if a little bit mad, but she is not at all Cicero's type! She's too skinny! Also Cicero found out she prefers ladies. Honestly, beloved, you have more chance of winning her over than Cicero.”

Which did make Eola start to wonder… but Eola had heard about Sera, heard that she was a bit young and in possession of a code of morals to boot. Not her type at all.

“Well, you know me, I prefer my lovers… morally ambiguous,” Eola murmured. “Now, how about we get… settled in, hmm?”

Cicero's giggle turned into a low growl as he picked Eola up and settled her onto the desk, kissing her, and as Eola put her arms round Cicero, she began to think that perhaps this mission to Thedas was working out all right after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Threw in the Gruesome Twosome at the end mainly because it had been a while since we'd heard from them and I wanted to check in.
> 
> Vivienne's opinions are of course wrong and based on paper-thin reasoning, but it strikes me she genuinely believes in it, because other than Tevinter, she's seen nowhere civilised where mages are treated as just other citizens. She's never come across anywhere that doesn't really single them out as a societal sub-group to the same extent because magic's a skill anyone can learn. She's so stuck in Thedosian binary thinking of mage and non-mage, she falls into the same failure of perspective trap that she claims the rebels did. She's got no frame of reference for anything else... so I'm giving her one, and this is the planting of the seeds of that. Maybe one day Vivienne will even visit Tamriel to see for herself (Vivienne meeting Maven, wouldn't that be something?) (oh god, it would, wouldn't it, maybe I can even engineer Maven visiting Skyhold towards the end of the fic...)


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's feeling lost but time with an old friend, the chance to help someone else out and getting to meet a brother Warden all serve as a distraction. Blackwall however is feeling a lot less relaxed as not only is his relationship with Bethany pushed to a head, the presence of a real Warden means his cover story might be going the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is really the second half of last chapter, but it's long enough to warrant its own. All takes place in the same night in Haven last chapter did, except we move a couple of plot points along, specifically Bethany/Blackwall. There's even some sexing in this one. Also trigger warnings for Alistair having alcoholic cravings and remembering his lost years in the Free Marches.

Alistair made his way through Haven, the lanes quiet but still torchlit and with a few people still around. The tavern was busy… but Alistair shuddered at the thought and kept going. No. Not again, _never_ again. Waking up covered in his own bodily fluids, or Maker help him, someone else's… no. Not here, not in Haven. He didn't know how much of a life he had left to him before the Calling claimed him, but he wasn't going to waste it drinking and trying to get some action. If death awaited him, he'd die a hero, right? Victory or Sovngarde, as Elisif had been explaining earlier on the ride up here. Except you didn't beat the Calling, and he wasn't sure he'd end up in Sovngarde, what with being a good Andrastian Chantry boy and all. For some version of good anyway. 

But he did have one friend in Haven. Someone who'd known him before. Someone he could be the old Alistair around. Someone he could be the carefree twenty year old innocent around, not the thirty year old failure with a drink problem he'd become (at least he could admit it, right?).

Leliana was still up, sitting in her tent by lamplight… and she wasn't alone. There was a mage in there with her, a woman in Circle robes, dark hair, same sort of age Alistair was, maybe a little younger, looked vaguely familiar. She seemed to be in some distress.

“Please, Sister, I know it's not your job any more, but you were always so helpful in Lothering and I didn't know who else to talk to. I – I don't really know anyone else here, not to talk to, not really.”

“I understand, Bethany, but I'm not the one to talk to about romantic problems,” Leliana sighed. “It… hasn't exactly been my strong point.”

“I'm not sure there's anyone who's an expert in _this,_ ” Bethany laughed bitterly. Alistair found himself feeling sorry for her. Someone else with a problematic love life. He could empathise.

“Hello?” Alistair said uncertainly. “Is everything all right? I'd offer to help, but I'm even worse at romance than Leliana is.”

Bethany did laugh nervously at that, before frowning, staring at him.

“Have we met?” Bethany asked, curious. “I swear I've seen you before.”

“You know Alistair?” Leliana asked. “Where would you… ah. Wait. Kirkwall?”

Alistair tensed, not wanting to, and in all honesty, barely being able to, remember his Kirkwall days, but things were coming back to him. Days spent drinking his mercenary wages away in the Hanged Man tavern… and Varric and Isabela and their friends dropping past to stare at him, sorrow and pity in their eyes… including the hazel eyes in Bethany's face.

Balls. Even if Bethany had not been embroiled in a romantic crisis of her own, any thoughts Alistair had of chatting her up wilted and died in that realisation. Knowing she'd seen him in that state… no.

Bethany had clearly seen the awkwardness and realised as her entire face changed in recognition.. and then pity again. Wonderful.

“Yes, I remember, you used to drink in the Hanged Man,” Bethany said. “Didn't I hear about you getting kicked out of the Red Iron? Fenris used to kick you work sometimes. Alistair, isn't it?”

“Ah… yeah,” Alistair admitted, embarrassed. “Er… I don't drink any more. Been living in Redcliffe for about five years or so. Working for the Arl… he's my uncle. Sort of. And now I've joined up. Felt like dying a hero.”

Sympathy in Bethany's eyes as she nodded.

“Well, I hope you don't need to die,” Bethany said. “So, Alistair… they said you were a Warden once, is that true?”

“It's true,” Alistair admitted, not really wanting to give details but not wanting to hide it either. “A long time ago, but yeah.”

“Did you ever know a Warden Blackwall?” Bethany asked, and that did surprise him.

“Warden Blackwall?” Alistair said, the name familiar but not one he'd ever expected to hear mentioned here. “Not personally, he was stationed over in Orlais, but I've heard of him. Man's a legend! Why, did you want to meet him?”

Bethany flinched, Leliana was looking rather wearily at him, and suddenly it clicked that maybe Warden Blackwall was the reason Bethany was here. 

“Wait,” Alistair said, putting two and two together, coming to sit down on the floor next to Leliana, staring up at Bethany's shadowed features. “Warden Blackwall's here? And you're… his girlfriend? Or you'd like to be? I really don't think you've got a lot to worry about if he's single, and he probably is or she'd be here, I think. Just turn up with a couple of pints in your hands and ask if he wants company.”

“Alistair!” Leliana sighed, and Bethany's stricken face meant there was likely more to it than this.

“It's not that simple or I wouldn't be here,” Bethany sighed. “We met on the way to Redcliffe, he was escorting Madanach and Maia and the rest. Apparently in the original timeline he stuck around and we became… close. But in the changed timeline, I don't even remember him coming in with us to Redcliffe. But the changes were local only, so I think he remembers what happened. And I want to talk to him about it but I don't even know where to start!”

“And I am not the best person to provide relationship advice,” Leliana admitted. “I've not had enough to comment one way or the other.”

Alistair privately thought Leliana was better at this sort of thing than she thought, but now was not the time to encourage Leliana. She wasn't the one asking for help.

“What if I talked to him?” Alistair offered. “I was a Warden once. He might listen to me. What did you want to tell him? You're still interested, right?”

“I think so,” Bethany whispered. “I think I just want to find out what happened. Find out how he feels. Say sorry?”

“Why, it's not your fault?” Leliana said, surprised. Bethany looked away, staring through the back entrance to the tent to look wistfully at the tavern.

“I know,” Bethany, said quietly. “But he must be heartbroken. Or wondering what's going on or thinking I don't love him any more or...”

“Do you?” Alistair asked. “Love him, I mean.”

“I don't remember!” Bethany cried. “I don't remember any of it! I don't know if I love him and I want to find out! I want to know what happened and if there's any point in… in trying again?”

Which, all right, was not an orthodox situation… but it was something Alistair could help with.

_We were supposed to be avoiding the tavern._

_It's in a good cause._

_Are you kidding, there'll be booze everywhere!_

It was in a good cause, Alistair repeated to himself. Varric'd be there, maybe he could get him to help if need be. Besides, Bethany clearly needed help.

“I'll talk to him,” Alistair decided. “You two wait there. I'll be back in half an hour or so with news – if I'm not, one of you should probably come and find me.”

There, that'd be insurance against temptation, knowing Leliana might be the one to find him. Leliana was a dear friend but she'd got very intimidating with the passage of time. Alistair wasn't sure he wanted her to see him at his worst.

And so with Bethany's grateful thanks ringing in his ear, Alistair steeled himself and went off to find Blackwall. If his own love life was non-existent and probably staying that way, he could at least help someone else out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blackwall, sure enough, was in the tavern, at a table with Sera and Varric and Dorian, drinks for everyone and cards out.

_Sit down with them and take one, it'd be so easy. Just one drink…_

Alistair made a determined effort to shut out the little voice in his head tempting him to disaster, and sidled up, attempting to look slightly eager and nervous, as if he was about to meet his hero. Which he sort of was, Warden Blackwall was a fucking legend, right?

Beard, longish hair, not wearing Warden gear, but seeing as he wasn't here on official business, Alistair saw nothing suspicious in that. Had the Calling and the desire to have a strong drink not been hammering at his mind, he might have noticed something else to give him pause but as it was, he was too busy focusing on ignoring the booze to pick up on it.

“Excuse me,” he said, smiling. “Warden Blackwall? Mind if I join you?”

Blackwall looked up, did a double-take and nodded immediately.

“Course not,” Blackwall said gruffly. “Always willing to share a drink with a brother Warden. Alistair, isn't it? Heard good things about you from Himself. Madanach seems to think very highly of you. Seems to think you'll be an asset. Me, I first heard your name during the Fifth Blight.”

Blackwall got to his feet, an inch taller than Alistair and about two inches wider across the shoulders and all muscle and Alistair laughed nervously and prepared to run… and then Blackwall clapped arms on his shoulders and looked like he was about to cry.

“May I say it's an honour to be serving alongside a hero of the Fifth Blight,” Blackwall said, sounding strangely emotional, and Alistair couldn't help but feel a bit emotional himself. Blackwall… had heard of him. _The_ Warden Blackwall had heard of him… and thought he was a hero. 

Blackwall couldn't possibly have heard the truth.

“You know I wasn't there for the Archdemon,” Alistair said quietly. “There was a difference of opinions – I've not been a proper Warden for years.”

Understanding in Blackwall's eyes as he patted Alistair on the back.

“You were there during the Blight, fought and didn't die, and the Hero of Ferelden wouldn't have got to the Archdemon without you, I'm sure. Any man brave enough to stand in the way of darkspawn and not go running has my respect. Share a drink with me?”

 _Maker, yes._ Except he couldn't, he mustn't, and the twin urges of acceptance versus addiction were this close to overwhelming… and then Varric intervened.

“He drinks tea, not booze. We got that nice winter berry tea if you'd like to try some, Mabari.”

“That sounds lovely,” Alistair said, sinking onto the bench with relief, settling himself next to Blackwall and smiling as a cup of hot berry tea materialised. It turned out Varric didn't like alcohol himself and had organised some soft drinks, partly for himself and partly so Maia could have something. She'd helped design the menu and name the drinks, which was why the red berry tea was apparently named Odahviing Tea.

“It's after her voice magic teacher,” Varric explained. “He's red, apparently. Hey, don't look at me like that, no way am I telling a cute little five year old princess she can't call the drinks what she likes.”

Which probably also explained the highly detailed red dragon draped around the title on the soft drinks menu too, and sure enough, it turned out Cicero had sketched it before he'd left and Solas had fleshed it out and given it life, remarking on the anatomical details in the sketches and yet the forearms were built into the wings, not separate like a true High Dragon. Odd, but that was what Cicero had drawn and Maia had insisted that was what dragons looked like, so they'd all agreed to humour her.

“Can't have mini-Herald upset for no reason, can we?” Sera said, rolling her eyes. “Because she's little, that is. Not because of who her mum is.”

“I don't think I've ever seen her upset for no reason,” Dorian reassured her. “She's had plenty of perfectly valid reasons to be unhappy, such as her mother vanishing, her father and sister being taken prisoner, having to flee for her life through the night, and then the incident with Enchanter Vivienne and the nugs. Right now, she's all set up for a whole variety of neuroses later in life – we can at least humour her on how many limbs dragons really have.”

“Ugh, Enchanter Vivvy-wotsit,” Sera shuddered, reaching for her tankard. “Right up herself, that one. Tell you what, maybe Elisif's a queen and all but at least she's normal. And that husband of hers, Madder-nickers, might be some sort of evil warlock, or so everyone says, but he's all right apart from that, you know.”

Alistair reminded himself to never ever tell Madanach the nickname he'd gathered, and Blackwall was only just containing his laughter. 

“So he's all right apart from the blood magic and apostasy, then,” Dorian said, amused. “Never mind the fact he's an unrepentant heretic, his sense of style and his charm make him an indispensable addition to any social gathering, is that what you mean? We shall have to tell Josephine, she'll need to arrange invitations to all the best parties.”

“No!” Sera snapped, smacking Dorian's arm. “No, idiot, of course not. He'd be rubbish at fancy Orlesian parties, that's why he's all right! He doesn't talk through his arse like most nobles. He was all right to that servant of theirs, Roslinna. Gave her a tip, thanked her for bringing the food, and then gave her the night off and said he'd reheat and serve it all, and she could collect the dishes later. I mean, yeah, if you pissed him off or screwed him over or hurt Maia, he'd batter you into the middle of next week, or have that Borkul do it. But he's more like one of us than any Orlesian ponce. As long as he does his heretical blood magic far away from here, he's all right with me.”

“That's remarkably enlightened of you,” Dorian said, impressed. “Next thing we know, you'll be saying necromancy's all right really.”

Sera did make a face at that.

“No,” she said firmly. “It's mucking about with dead things. What part of unnatural and wrong don't you lot get? If it's dead, it shouldn't be walking around again!”

Which led to Dorian protesting that it was a perfectly valid field of study and Eola's research verged on it too, which prompted more visceral shuddering from Sera who apparently was of the opinion that there was something really wrong with that one – pretty, but wrong. That Cicero liked her and she kept him occupied was about the only thing Sera seemed to appreciate about Eola. 

Alistair left them to it and edged closer to Warden Blackwall.

“So, Blackwall,” Alistair said, wondering where to start. “I'm told you escorted Madanach and friends to Redcliffe. And in the original timeline, you stayed there for a bit and left just before things went pear-shaped. Do you remember anything about it?”

Blackwall put his pint down and frowned at Alistair. 

“Alistair lad, if you're asking for an occult explanation, you've got the wrong man. Dorian's the only one in Haven who remotely understands anything about it, and even he seems to think it shouldn't have actually worked. Not sure what you expect me to be able to tell you.”

“Oh I don't need to know how it worked,” Alistair said. “But they said it was local. Cicero seems to remember the other timeline, because he and Sera were travelling back from Val Royeaux and were nowhere near Redcliffe. You left with Borkul after that but while Madanach still ran the mage army. I was wondering what you remember of Redcliffe.”

“I remember it being… odd,” Blackwall said, staring into his pint. “But happy. The locals were wary of the mages, and the mages were worried about Templars but the Arl seemed willing to put up with them. Then Madanach took over the military organisation, started organising defences and humanitarian missions to the refugee camps and raids against the Templars and giving people hope again. Say what you will about whatever arcane things he's capable of, he was what the mages needed and he saved lives. When Borkul and I left, we'd just found out the Herald was Madanach's missing wife. We were taking his letter to Haven. So she could come and visit Redcliffe and sign an alliance. We thought it'd be an easy job. We never expected to find the mages indentured and not even remembering they'd been free in our absence. We were so close to getting them help...”

Blackwall's voice broke on the last sentence and fell silent, swigging from his pint. Alistair could guess what was wrong. It wasn't the injustice to the mages. A far more personal loss was clearly behind Blackwall's unhappiness.

“It's Bethany, isn't it,” Alistair said quietly. “You were involved with Bethany Hawke, left her behind, only to find that she likely doesn't even remember you. You miss her, don't you?”

“How in the Void did you… never mind,” Blackwall snapped. “Yes, Mistress Hawke and I were… close. But we never… look, we shared drinks. We went for walks, and a picnic. I helped her with the kids and I'd walk her back to her room at night, but I'd never go in. I was a gentleman. She – she doesn't have anything to worry about. I never molested her.”

“You know, I think that might be the problem,” Alistair mused. “Look, if you must know, she's here. Got in a couple of hours ago. I think she'd be keen to see you again. Pick up where you two left off.”

Blackwall's head whipped round, eyes glaring thunderously at Alistair. 

“I said no, Alistair!” he snapped, hand clenching into a fist. “She's better off _without_ me! If she doesn't remember… she's better off. Tell her to find someone else. She shouldn't waste her life pining over me.”

Alistair really hadn't expected Warden Blackwall to be quite so self-pitying. Not that he was one to talk, what with having fucked up his own life and then the Calling and… wait. Ah hell, was that it?

“You're hearing the Calling too?” Alistair whispered. “Maker, Blackwall. You poor bastard. No wonder you don't want to commit to anything. Look, can you at least talk to Bethany? Tell her what's going on? I think she'd like to talk to you at least. And… look, these are dangerous times, mate. I know I joined precisely because the Inquisition's offering the best chance to die a hero. Any of us could get killed at any minute. Could be you. Could be her. Seize happiness while you can.”

“It is _not_ that simple,” Blackwall said bitterly, taking another swig from his pint.

“But you do like her,” Alistair pressed, not giving up that easily. Blackwall sighed, putting his pint down.

“Yes,” he finally growled, about willing to say anything to shut Alistair up. “She's beautiful. But she deserves better than me, so just leave it, all right?”

Alistair got to his feet and picked his tea up, preparing to take his leave. 

“That was all I wanted to know,” he said cheerfully. “My thanks, Warden Blackwall. Have a good evening, everyone. I'll see you all tomorrow.”

With that, he left, ignoring Sera inquiring to Varric if Alistair was all right or just being weird and Warden-y.

“Hey,” Blackwall warned as the door closed behind Alistair. “Less of that. He's a bloody hero of the Blight, he is.”

“A bit weird, is what he is,” Sera said rather pointedly. “But he could be worse. He's up to something, you mark my words. Not anything bad, I don't think. But he's planning something. Whatever you two were arguing about, you haven't heard the last of it, Blackwall.”

“It's not any of his business anyway,” Blackwall growled. “Just because he's a Warden doesn't mean he can interfere in other people's personal lives without consequence. Ah, but you don't want to listen to me moaning all night. Whose turn was it? I seem to recall Mister Pavus being cleared out of royals at an alarming pace. Hope he's got enough left to pay for drinks, because I think it's his round.”

“All right, all right, I take the hint,” Dorian sighed, getting up and heading for the bar. “Wait until I get back before dealing the cards, if you please. I'm not convinced one of you hasn't marked them as it is.”

As a matter of fact, Sera and Varric both had marked the deck. Unfortunately they were using different marking systems on the same cards, meaning neither was now sure which card was which, neatly cancelling out any advantage either might have gained. Meanwhile Blackwall had learnt the game in his native Free Marches, honed his skills against Orlesians, had worked out Sera's tells if not Varric's, and was doing quite nicely, winning just enough to keep in profit and above suspicion. As far as cards went, Blackwall was doing just fine. It was a pity the same couldn't be said about his love life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blackwall's good mood only faded a little as he left the tavern, the cold hitting him like a fist as the laughter of the tavern died away as the door closed. On the one hand, he missed the good cheer and fellowship. On the other… pretending to be something he was not took it out of him. Especially with a real Warden in Haven. It tore at Blackwall's conscience, especially because Alistair seemed like a genuine hero. The real thing, which not only made Blackwall's deception harder, it also cast his own failings into sharp relief. 

“Blackwall?”

Blackwall stopped dead, dread prickling down his spine as he realised time had run out. Bethany Hawke was not only in Haven… she was here. She'd found him.

“Mistress Hawke,” Blackwall said quietly, not looking in her direction. “Good evening.”

She didn't remember. She couldn't. She should walk away. Why was she even here?

“Don't 'Mistress Hawke' me,” Bethany snapped, covering the distance between them and grabbing his arm. “We were on closer terms than that! Even if I don't… even if I don't remember, you do!”

He should have known she'd want answers. He owed her that much at least. Sighing he turned to face her.

“Mistress- Bethany,” he said, standing firm, obliging her on the first name terms part, hoping it'd give him leverage in resisting anything else she might want. He couldn't have been more wrong. “I see someone told you we were… look, you don't need to worry. Nothing happened. We were friends, we spent time together, but that was all. I did nothing untoward. You're not bound to me in any way. You can move on with your life.”

“Move on – Blackwall!!” Bethany cried. “You can't just – can't we at least talk about this? We had a whole relationship apparently! You can't just pretend it never happened!”

Would that he could. He'd spent every night since hearing the news out of Redcliffe worrying about Bethany, wondering if she was all right, devastated for her to have lost all memory of him but resigning himself to the inevitable, telling himself it was better this way.

Logically, it still was the best option. No ties meant no one to care if anything happened to him. Keeping people at bay meant telling fewer lies. Letting people in meant hiding more things. 

Letting her in meant lying to the woman he loved, and Blackwall could live with a lot of things on his conscience, but somehow not that.

And yet he couldn't bring himself to turn her away either.

“Bethany, I'm a man with a past,” Blackwall said darkly. “You don't… I mean, I've done things. Bad things. Not… not as a Warden. But before. Do you really want a man like me?”

“I...” Bethany paused and Blackwall didn't know whether to be relieved or not. Then she'd closed the distance between them and touched his face, determined look on her face that had Blackwall but known it been the last thing many a criminal of Kirkwall had seen on Marian's face.

“I want a chance to find out,” Bethany said firmly, and then her lips met his and Blackwall recalled memories of kissing her, of holding her in his arms and wanting more, both of them wanting more… but neither ever crossing the boundaries. Or rather, he'd always said no when she'd pushed the issue.

She was pushing the issue again, hands on his cheeks as she kissed him, and he couldn't help but kiss her back, erection rising in his loins and breath coming in gasps as he realised just how long it had been and…

He swung her round and shoved her up against the fence, looking at her beautiful face as hazel eyes closed and dark hair fell around her shoulders. She had her arms around him, legs parting as her hands were on his back and indeed backside, pulling him closer.

“You need to walk away,” Blackwall growled. “You need to stop this.”

“Why,” Bethany gasped. “Did you want me to go?”

“No,” Blackwall murmured, leaning in to nibble her earlobe. “But if you don't stop this, I don't think I can.”

“Then don't stop,” Bethany whispered, and Blackwall could take it no longer. He'd spent weeks – weeks – thinking about having her and kissing her and that combined with all the recent worry finally pushed him over the edge as his lips met hers and Bethany let out a breathless little moan as she fell into his arms.

He'd never wanted a woman more, but it wasn't going to be here where anyone could see them. Letting her go, he stepped back and held out a hand to her.

“If you want to take this further, come with me,” Blackwall said quietly. “I can get us some privacy near the smithy – won't be comfortable but at least we'll be alone. Unless you've got room in your tent?”

“My tent presently has three apprentice mages who don't have one of their own yet sleeping in it,” Bethany admitted. “Frankly, anything with a roof is a bonus.”

Blackwall couldn't quite promise her that. But as she took his hand, he realised he was done with being lonely. He wanted Bethany and Bethany wanted him. Tonight, nothing else mattered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was not the most romantic sex either had ever had. Far from there being a roof, it involved the two of them behind the smithy, Bethany with her back against the wall and Blackwall with his hand between her legs, appreciating the way mage robes seemed to open at just the right place for access, fingering her until she was almost pleading for him to fuck her. And then he was inside her, pinning her to the smithy wall, her legs wrapped around him, neither aware of anything else, just each other. And if Blackwall knew there'd be a reckoning, he no longer cared. Bethany was gasping out an orgasm, and as she finished coming around him, Blackwall finally gave in to his own.

Silence, the inevitable cleanup, and then collapsing on the snow in a heap, Bethany breathless but cheerful, and Blackwall… guilt was already claiming him but it was too late now. What was done was done. And maybe she need never know. He might genuinely die heroically serving the Inquisition. Or she might (although that prospect genuinely pained him – no, better it be him).

“I needed that,” Bethany whispered, looking supremely contented as she patted his hand. “We'll find somewhere more comfortable next time, right?”

Blackwall squeezed her hand, realising that yes, there'd be a next time, and yes he was looking forward to it already, and Bethany had shifted closer and was now cuddling up to him, and Blackwall could only close his eyes and realise this had all got completely out of hand.

“I've got a tent but it's over near the Templars,” Blackwall admitted. “Not a lot of privacy.”

“I can cast silencing charms, we'll be all right,” Bethany whispered.

“They can dispel magic,” Blackwall reminded her. Bethany giggled.

“Then it'll be like old times in the Circle,” she whispered. “Trying to keep quiet in a dark corner while Templars patrol just feet away.”

Which told Blackwall rather more about Circle life than he'd ever wanted to know, and rather more about Bethany than he'd ever suspected… on the other hand, at least she wasn't a virgin. Good to know.

“I had no idea Circle life was that exciting,” Blackwall said, amused. “Most mages I've met all seemed to hate it.”

Bethany fell silent, seeming uncertain. Blackwall recalled what he'd heard of Kirkwall. A draconian place even by Circle standards, but its members hadn't left voluntarily. An apostate had blown up the Chantry, the Knight-Commander had tried to annul the Circle (a polite euphemism for murdering them all, including the children), and the mages had been left with little choice but fight, flee or be slaughtered.

It occurred to him that perhaps Bethany, left to herself, might not have joined the rebels.

“It wasn't all bad,” Bethany said quietly. “Day to day, it was quiet, peaceful even. I learnt things. I made friends. I didn't have to hide any more. I'd spent my entire childhood running, or hiding, our entire family worried Templars would come for us. Especially after Father died. While he was still alive, it didn't matter that I had magic, because they'd take him first if they found us. But once he was gone, and it was just the three of us and Mother, and me the only mage… I wondered if maybe I should go to the Circle. Mother might be able to see her family again, Marian and Carver might be able to have normal lives, they could all leave Lothering and be around people again. Of course, before I could do anything, the Blight came and we all had to run.”

Blackwall knew the Blight's horrors well enough. He knew Bethany had lost her brother in that flight, and that if they'd not had to flee their home, maybe they'd never have ended up in Kirkwall. Who knew what might have happened if there'd been no Hawkes in Kirkwall.

Probably nothing good. And that might have meant no Bethany here. Which… also might mean bad things further down the line. But right now, he had a lover, and he'd never expected to have that again. Especially not someone as lovely as Bethany.

“So. Warden Blackwall,” Bethany mused thoughtfully, not keen to dwell on dead kin any longer than she had to. “Have you got a first name? I think we can be on first-name terms at this point. Which means you can call me Bethany.”

First-name terms. Blackwall tried to hide the wince at this. Being called Warden Blackwall was something he'd grown used to. But having his first name used… especially as intimately as Bethany was likely to… it seemed horribly invasive, and the real Blackwall would have been appalled. But it was too late now. Bethany wanted an answer, and Blackwall would have to be honest… for some version of honest. Because giving her a false first name would alert Alistair, who would know Warden Blackwall's real name.

“Gordon,” Blackwall admitted. Well, not like he could tell her Thom, was it? Far too easy to link it back to his past in Orlais and a name he'd left behind.

“Gordon?” Bethany said, grinning. “Gordon the Warden? You're well-named!”

Blackwall did have to give her that one. “I don't think my parents realised I'd end up joining, but I think they'd be proud,” he told her. Bethany nodded, something distracting her.

“I don't know if mine would be,” Bethany said softly. “My father had dealings with the Wardens, they got him and Mother away from Kirkwall, but there was a price. And Mother always blamed the Wardens for not being there to save Carver. I know it wasn't their fault but my mother never let that get in the way of blaming anyone.”

Blackwall wisely decided not to comment. Bethany's relationship with her parents was her own, after all.

“Well, I'm sure mine would have liked you,” Blackwall told her, knowing that to be true at least. No need for her to know he was speaking of Rainiers, not Blackwalls. Bethany blushed, lowering her eyes, snuggling into him, and they stayed like that for some time, until at length Bethany got up to take her leave.

“I should get back to the kids, they might be wondering where I am,” Bethany said, brushing the snow from her robes. “We should… we should… I'll see you in the morning, right? Or… soon?”

“Try stopping me,” Blackwall promised before he could really think about the implications. It was only after she'd left it hit him just how complicated his life had just got… and that the web of lies he'd built it on was no foundation at all for a serious romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is interesting writing DA characters who don't really interact in game, or perhaps starred in different games completely, and having to pick through their entire timelines to see if they did ever encounter each other. Such as realising Alistair would have spent most of Act 1 of Dragon Age 2 getting wasted in the Hanged Man, and Hawke has the option to talk to him, there's no reason Bethany wouldn't have been in the party. And remembering Leliana was a Chantry sister in Lothering while the Hawkes lived there and recalls having got to know and like Bethany if you ask her about the Hawkes in Inquisition. All of which proved very useful in this one - maybe Bethany would go to see the Chantry sister she remembered as a kind advisor and friend, and maybe she'd also remember the alcoholic Fereldan merc who was rumoured to be a prince... sadly for Alistair, yes she does.
> 
> Next chapter involves nugs, Leliana getting nudged towards unhardening, Madanach getting a promotion, Fiona getting unsettled and the lead-in to the next adventure.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What starts out as a children's game turns into something more as Alistair decides a certain someone needs to lighten up. Meanwhile the timeline switch in Redcliffe was only confined to Redcliffe and the consequences of that are coming home to roost, particularly for Madanach and Fiona. And it's not just the recent past that's coming back to haunt the Grand Enchanter either, as events from thirty years ago are never far from her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two words: Nug Day. This chapter's a bit too cute for words. We've got nugs, the start of the Softening of Sister Nightingale, the start of Grand Enchanter Fiona acknowledging her son, the after-effects of the timeline shenanigans in Redcliffe coming back to haunt Madanach, and all in all, I really liked it. Last chapter was a bit short so this one is coming up now.

A new day dawned and sure enough, the rest of the mages began arriving, with wood and animal pelts they'd gathered on the way, and full notes from Madanach on how to build a camp, and within hours the high ground on the other side of the lake had the snow swept off it with force magic, a few of the burlier mages assigned to dig latrine pits, and windbreaks, tents and campfires coming into existence – perhaps not done as well as they could have been but not bad for mages who'd lived in Circles all their lives.

All in all, Haven now had a passable Forsworn camp set up on the other side of the lake, complete with goats' heads on sticks by the gates.

Cullen's reaction had been unrepeatable, and Vivienne's catty remarks had got on everyone's backs, but so far they'd mostly kept themselves to themselves, there hadn't been any magical accidents and not an abomination to be seen.

And so Madanach made good on his promise to escort Maia up there, with Borkul and Alistair following, all of them keen to get out of Haven for a bit. The constant judgemental looks from people who somehow weren't keen on a camp decorated in wooden spikes and animal parts right next door was starting to wear on Madanach and his household.

The mage camp itself was a bustling hive of activity, with tents going up still, snow being lifted out of the way using telekinesis, and formed into banks of snow that acted as defensive fortifications. Probably wouldn't stand up to a determined assault, but that was why mages were hammering sharp wooden stakes into them.

They all stopped as Madanach went by, many giving Maia a smile and a wave, and more than a few watching Madanach with some degree of awe, and Madanach recalled tales of him once being Enchanter-General and wondered if perhaps they'd heard them too.

They'd not been in the camp long before Suzette and Lucy promptly descended on them, ambushing Maia and wanting to know all about Haven and was she really the Herald's little girl and tell us everything, Maia, tell us everything!

It seemed some news had got round. Madanach patted his daughter on the shoulder and decided the work of showing Maia round the camp and keeping her entertained was a thing easily delegated.

“Go on, go play with your friends,” Madanach said, amused. “You can tell them how you met a wicked witch and made friends with some nugs.”

The annoyed look from Maia did make Madanach feel a little guilty, but if his daughter was going to do these things, she needed to learn to deal with consequences. A little mild social embarrassment wouldn't do her any harm. Sure enough, Lucy wanted to know about the nugs and Suzette was insisting the Inquisition wouldn't have a wicked witch, they were the heroes, and Maia was protesting they'd got one anyway, but not to worry, she'd got herself a bodyguard, and pointed proudly at Alistair.

“I'm not getting out of this, am I,” Alistair sighed, resigning himself to babysitting for the afternoon.

“Don't worry,” Madanach told him, grinning. “Just keep them in sight, and they'll likely entertain themselves. All you need to do is stop them doing anything dangerous and break up any fights. You can do that, right?”

Alistair probably could. Keeping four young mages out of trouble for a few hours. How hard could it be?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Madanach left the children to it, Borkul at his back as he made his way to Fiona's command tent. It already had a deer's skull mounted on the roof. Madanach approved.

Fiona was inside, interviewing a group of young mages led by an elven man in his thirties. All of whom were dressed in a Thedosian version of Forsworn gear.

MageGuard. Enchanter-General. Madanach knew what had apparently happened, but knowing wasn't the same as remembering. All he knew was he'd been hiding out among the mages, hoping Alexius didn't spot him or his daughter. He'd not truly realised what he'd lost. Or that the timeline switch had only affected Redcliffe. Not until now, when he'd found himself faced with three members of a MageGuard which was clearly based on the Forsworn, and there wasn't any other way three Thedosian mages could have known what this particular look involved.

“There he is!” the elf cried. “Enchanter-General! Sir! We heard about the alliance, thought we'd come to liaise and see if the orders had changed. Oh, and, er, hello Captain Borkul. Sir.”

Respectful and slightly terrified looks from the MageGuard agents, and Borkul grinned and nodded back.

“Agent Sketch. Good to see you. How you all doin'? Been beatin' up some bad guys?”

Sketch's face fell as he ruefully admitted that things had been a bit weird… no information out of Redcliffe and the Templars seemed to have gone to ground. Fiona rolled her eyes and straightened up, calling the meeting back to order and gesturing at the newly-arrived MageGuard.

“These three turned up this morning, seeming to think you are someone called the Enchanter-General, who'd turned half my mages into an organisation called the MageGuard. Their cell were keeping tabs on Inquisition soldiers, but heard about trouble in Redcliffe and sent half their people back to find out what was going on. They tell me there's a ton of other cells out there, far more than I thought we had, and I strongly suspect there are others who are under cover somewhere. All of them are claiming they report in to you.” Fiona was staring at him sternly, arms folded and radiating disapproval. 

“Ah, now, Fiona, I promise you, I don't remember doing any of this,” Madanach began, starting to feel a bit nervous, because Fiona was no pushover, and if she got angry, he didn't entirely fancy his chances. Fiona wasn't relenting either.

“I know,” Fiona said, gritting her teeth. “That's the _problem!_ ”

“The problem?” Madanach asked, glancing at the door of the tent and making sure nothing stood in the way of him and a quick exit. Borkul'd hold the line so he could get away, right?

“Because some of my best people are out there, in the field, under cover and out of contact, and _none of us know where they are!_ ” Fiona hissed. “Not you, not me, no one! Sketch can reach a lot of them, and they can reach others, but we have a good percentage of the rebellion completely unfindable! Because you sent them off on missions _none of us remember!_ ”

An uncomfortable silence and while Madanach wanted to argue it wasn't his fault, he couldn't possibly have anticipated Alexius warping time, the fact remained there was an entire Mage-Guard network out there that thought he was in charge of it… and no one really had any idea what it was doing. It might not be his fault, but Madanach had a feeling it was about to become his responsibility. 

“Did you want me to try and find them?” Madanach sighed. “Borkul remembers some of it, he might know where I sent them...”

“Don't bother,” Fiona interrupted sternly. “What I need is a liaison to the Inquisition. It turns out someone invited Enchanter Vivienne to join up and she's camped out in the Chantry itself. Where the Inquisition has all its important meetings. Which, now that she's there, means it's unwise for me to go there in person.”

Because the resulting catfight might end up setting fire to the entire village, Madanach assumed. While he'd pay to see Fiona and Vivienne at it, he'd also rather prefer it happened at a safe distance. Without his wife, daughters and his wife's Inquisition in the firing line.

“So… who are you sending?” Madanach asked, having a feeling he knew where this was going.

“My Enchanter-General, of course,” Fiona purred. “Don't look at me like that, Madanach. I have a good chunk of my people apparently thinking that's your title and they take their orders from you. I don't need the field agents knowing all the details of what really went on in Redcliffe. Best for everyone if we preserve continuity. I must have been sufficiently impressed to appoint you in the first place, and everyone keeps telling me of MageGuard exploits and thanking me for the help, so you must have been doing something right. Also you're married to the Herald and living up there. Convenient for you, and no one's going to stop you walking into any meeting you feel like unless Elisif herself kicks you out. Well, Madanach? Did you want your impressive title back?”

Of course he did.

“I would be honoured, Grand Enchanter,” Madanach promised, already feeling gleeful at the thought of an official title and a proper job and something to do, by Sithis, yes, he'd needed this. This was what he'd been missing – a purpose. Best of all, it was something his wife hadn't bestowed on him. Yes, this was what he'd needed. 

Enchanter Vivienne's expression was going to be _priceless_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Alistair had no idea why people seemed to think childcare was so difficult. It was fine! The four of them had chatted and squealed and that little one Lucy had barely stopped cuddling Maia, and then they'd played tag for a bit, chasing each other through the trees until they were worn out, and all Alistair had had to do was trail them for a bit then sit under a tree and watch. Easy. Watch the kids have fun and make sure no one died or burst into tears or anything. Alistair had no idea why parents always complained about how hard this childcare thing was.

And then the kids had got tired and there'd been questions for Maia about all her adventures and Tamriel, and did they really not have Circles there and was her daddy really a king? And Maia had looked about for somewhere to sit, realised snow was everywhere and they didn't have any blankets, and done what a five year old magelet away from the main camp with Alistair the only adult in sight would naturally consider an appropriate way of disposing of the snow. She breathed fire and melted enough of a circle for everyone to sit in.

Maia could breathe fire. Alistair had not known Maia could breathe fire. In fact, his child being able to breathe fire was the sort of thing Madanach really could have told him about beforehand.

Children really should not be able to _breathe fire._ And yet none of them seemed that bothered, what with Suzette and Gerard kicking the remaining slush away and then all four of them were sitting down and talking as if one of them hadn't just _breathed fire_ in front of them.

Maker's breath. No wonder people were nervous around mages. Alistair made a mental note to ask Madanach a few questions about his daughter. Did he even know? What about Elisif?? One of them really should. Although now that he thought of it, what if this was normal in Tamriel? They'd already demonstrated they didn't fear magic like Thedosians did. What if breathing fire was so common a magical talent it was barely worthy of notice?

Alistair was no longer quite so sure he wanted to visit Tamriel. But his attention was caught by Maia raising her voice.

“And then she _scared the nugs away!_ ” Maia cried, to general horror and outrage from the other three. “We were playing and she scared them! I don't like her.”

“No one likes her,” Suzette sniffed. “She thinks the Templars were right to lock mages away.”

“You should breathe fire on her, Maia,” Gerard suggested, grinning. “That'd show her.” 

“No!” Alistair cried, deciding this had gone far enough. “You can't breathe fire at people! That's not allowed!”

A child really should not look quite that imperious, because Maia was staring rather disdainfully at him and looking just like her father.

“You're not my daddy, you can't tell me off,” Maia said, as if that settled everything. Damn. Well, he could at least fall back on parental authority.

“Your daddy wouldn't want you breathing fire at Vivienne,” Alistair told her, and he realised even as he said it it had been a mistake, because Maia was staring back at him with not a shred of fear anywhere, because they both knew Madanach might not disapprove of that at all.

“All right, your _mum_ wouldn't want you doing it,” Alistair said firmly, and that did make Maia capitulate as she looked away and admitted Elisif probably wouldn't approve, no.

“Enchanter Vivienne's not here,” Lucy whispered, edging nearer Maia. “You could summon the nugs here! No one'd know.”

“Except him,” said Suzette, and all four children turned as one to size up Alistair, who belatedly realised he was outnumbered.

“I won't tell anyone,” Alistair said quickly. “You do your thing. I like nugs.”

They were cute. He had fond memories of Leliana's pet nug, Schmooples, and despite nugs being utterly ridiculous, he'd not quite been able to resist playing with the little thing. In fact…

It occurred to him Schmooples' owner had been far too serious of late, and while responsibility was probably wearing on her, Alistair knew Leliana and knew she must be missing her pets, and that all that seriousness wasn't any good for anyone.

“But we can't start this yet,” Alistair said, getting to his feet and brushing the snow off. “We need someone else. A someone else who I know loves nugs and would want to play with them too.”

Maia glanced at the other kids and nodded, shrugging.

“I suppose. Who is it?”

“Leliana,” Alistair said, and that got all their attentions.

“What, _the_ Leliana?” Lucy gasped, awed.

“What, the scary one in the chainmail?” Suzette asked, eyes wide. “Really?”

“She's not gonna come,” Gerard said matter-of-factly, folding his arms. “She'll probably stab you for asking.”

“Ah, she won't stab me, I've known her for years,” Alistair said confidently. “But, er, you lot should come too. Just in case, you know.”

“What, so we can watch her stab you?” Gerard laughed, getting up. “ _Brilliant!_ I'm in.”

Maia looked genuinely distressed at the idea of him being stabbed, which was rather sweet of her.

“She's not going to stab me, especially not in front of you,” Alistair promised. “Come on, let's find her. She'll thank us for it. Eventually.”

If she didn't stab him for it. But Alistair knew Leliana, and while the years might have hardened her, they'd not taken away her principles. Leliana's trade was deception but she plied it in the service of good. She wouldn't kill him.

She just might make him wish he was dead instead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Leliana looked up, surprised to see Alistair stride in with a grin on his face and four eager children including the Herald's piling in to the tent behind him.

“Alistair, I'm rather – what the…??”

Alistair had walked in and picked her up without batting an eyelid.

“Leliana! There you are! Do you want to play with some nugs? Of course you do, let's go, come on children!”

“We're going to play with some nugs!” the little elf, Lucy, called out, and the others fell in behind her as Alistair carried her off. Maia at least had the grace to look a bit guilty.

“We're very sorry,” she said apologetically. “But Alistair was very insistent you had to join in.”

Leliana closed her eyes and growled at Alistair.

“You are in so much trouble, young man,” Leliana scolded. Maybe he was thirty by now (although the lucky bastard didn't look it), but he was still two years younger than her. Which meant Leliana saw him as the younger brother she'd never had… and like all older sisters, she considered it virtually a divine right to tell him off if needed. “I mean it, I've got the best spies in Thedas working for me, I could have you killed if I wanted!”

“Ah, you're not going to kill me, who else can you let your hair down with if not me?” Alistair said cheerfully.

“But she's got short hair,” Lucy whispered at the same time as Gerard clapped his hands and whispered “she's gonna stab him! Awesome!”

Leliana was sorely tempted. Somewhere non-fatal, yes. But she was definitely considering retaliation of the pointy variety, particularly as they passed by Varric Tethras's Favourite Campfire, where he was sitting with Dorian and Maker help her, Elisif herself, all of whom promptly put down their drinks (hot soup in a mug for Varric, Elisif and Dorian apparently on the ale already) to stare at her.

“Am I seeing this?” Varric wondered. “The Mabari's carting Sister Nightingale off and she hasn't stabbed him yet?”

“I'm thinking about it!” Leliana shouted. “Herald, I apologise, I hope you didn't want any important updates on anything, because this _idiot_ decided I needed to go nug-hunting!”

“Nug-hunting...” Elisif stared at Maia, putting the pieces together. “Maia, are you summoning nugs again?”

Maia tried to look innocent, but wasn't doing a very good job of it.

“Alistair said he didn't mind, and Lucy wanted to see them?” Maia offered.

Elisif sighed and got to her feet, shaking her head.

“Alistair, put Leliana down. Maia, we did say that this might upset people. Enchanter Vivienne was not happy the first time.”

“She's not invited,” Maia said, scowling. “But you could come, Mama!” The scowl was replaced with a hopeful smile and Elisif sighed.

“All right. Fine. We will go play with some nugs and I will make sure you are doing it safely and not hurting them or anyone else. Leliana, I am so sorry, you don't have to come if you don't...”

“Yes she does,” Alistair said firmly, patting Leliana on the shoulder. He'd put her down at Elisif's command but apparently wasn't that cowed by the Herald's authority, because he was staring her down surprisingly calmly.

Elisif's cool gaze did not bode well for him, but he didn't seem to mind that, either.

“I see,” Elisif said, fingers tapping her thigh. “Mind telling me why?”

“Because...” And Alistair did falter here for just a few seconds, staring at Leliana and looking for all the world like a lost little Mabari pup, which he needed to stop doing because it was making Leliana feel things. Not sexual or romantic things, but it was making her _feel_. And she couldn't afford to feel, because if she started feeling, she'd start screaming, or crying, or be unable to give the orders she did, and the Inquisition would fall apart and…

“Because she needs to,” Alistair said firmly, straightening up and suddenly finding some authority from somewhere, and Leliana realised that while he'd walked away from power, the makings of a king were in this one. “Look at her, she's turned hard and unfeeling and cold, and it's _not her_. She's a sweetheart underneath who collects flowers and shoes and likes nugs and babies and sings songs. Maybe she's got a job to do as well, but she never _stops_ , Elisif! She's let being the Left Hand of the Divine take her over and she's forgotten how to be Leliana. So we're going to play with some nugs and she's going to be just Leliana for a bit. Not Sister Nightingale.”

Elisif's expression had softened just slightly and Leliana realised with horror that Elisif was remembering that conversation they had barely a week after the Inquisition got started where Elisif had walked in on her praying and Leliana had tearfully and angrily demanded to know why the Maker had allowed all this. And Elisif had had no answers but had stepped forward and hugged her and told her the gods could not prevent mortals doing evil acts, but they gave the strength to endure and put the world right and that's what they were going to do.

Leliana had only learnt later that greeting your friends and vassals with a hug was considered perfectly normal and the done thing in Nord culture. At the time she'd felt appalled and mortified and unable to extricate herself quickly enough. Elisif's words had seemed hollow, a mockery, a platitude meant to stop her asking difficult questions. Except Leliana began to realise Elisif had meant them… and perhaps saw Leliana as something to be fixed.

 _I don't need fixing!!_ But Leliana had a horrible feeling she wasn't going to get a choice.

“I think playing with nugs for a bit is a fine idea,” Elisif said gently. “Leliana, I hereby give you the afternoon off so you and Alistair and Maia can play with nugs. In fact, I think I might come with you.” 

Without even bothering to check if such a thing was all right or not, Elisif had linked arms with Leliana, smiling sweetly in that irritating way she had that meant she'd won and they all knew it, and Alistair, damn him, had the exact same expression on his face and had linked his arm in her other one and the two of them were frogmarching her off like a prisoner being walked to her doom. Leliana certainly felt that way.

Dorian and Varric watched the little procession move towards the gates, the four children running after, little Maia telling the others her mother was the best!

“Varric, I do believe we're about to see the Left Hand's softer side,” Dorian remarked, finishing off his own tankard and reaching for Elisif's abandoned half-pint. “Now, tell me. Is the delicious schadenfreude going to make up for the nauseating cuteness?”

“Hey, Sparkler, I'm a dwarf,” Varric said, shrugging. “Give me a herd of nugs and I don't think cute, I think dinner. Except I'm not sure Little Herald would appreciate Bianca and me picking a few off for the table.”

“Ah yes, traumatised crying five year olds, just the thing to round the afternoon off,” Dorian said, smirking as he downed Elisif's left over ale as well. “Well, I think I can survive the sentimentality if I contemplate the nugs in question served up with an apple in their mouth. Lead on, Varric.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Discussions concluded in the mage command tent, and Madanach was already planning his new operations centre, when the commotion from outside caught his attention. There seemed to be an awful lot of… squealing?

He recognised Maia. Then there was a noise sounding almost like his wife. And then there was someone sounding like… Leliana??

Leliana didn't squeal, did she?

“If you'll excuse me, Grand Enchanter, we should probably find out what the camp are up to,” Madanach said, straightening up and beckoning for Borkul to follow him.

“I might join you,” Fiona said, motioning for her elven steward (or the nearest equivalent – seneschal was the word, wasn't it?) to wrap things up and follow her, and so the four of them made their way to where quite a crowd had gathered.

And at the centre of it was his wife and daughter, both sitting on the ground with nugs surrounding them, literally a hundred or so of them, all running around and letting the various humans pet them and cuddle them and was that Leliana? Sitting in between Elisif and Alistair, emitting little squeals as she fussed over a small group of baby ones while Alistair cuddled their mother.

“They're adorable!” Leliana gasped, sounding like she was on the verge of hyperventilating. “Oh my goodness, you are all so cute! And so tiny! Look at this one's little FACE!”

“That's our spymaster,” Madanach said uncertainly. “Cooing over… they're nugs, right?”

“They're nugs,” Lysas confirmed. “Grand Enchanter, are you all right? You don't look...”

“I'm fine,” Fiona whispered. She'd not taken her eyes off Alistair, who was grinning at the nug in his arms then glancing at Leliana, looking rather smug.

“See, said you'd like this,” Alistair said, turning to the nug. “Didn't I, Nuggy? Cause Leliana loves your stupid little faces and your little hands, doesn't she? She does!”

Leliana had barely even heard him, and Elisif, who'd been lying on her front, watching her baby play with nug babies, was smiling in approval.

“New rule,” Elisif announced. “Nug Day to be a weekly event. Leliana, your attendance is mandatory.”

Leliana was too busy tickling a baby nug's stomach to even raise a protest. Madanach approached and settled down next to Elisif, ruffling Maia's hair as he did so.

“So… our daughter manages to annoy Enchanter Vivienne by summoning a mighty nug army to smite her enemies, and now you've made it a weekly event,” Madanach said, amused. “You're not even trying to be diplomatic at this point, are you?”

“Don't tell me you're bothered by this,” Elisif said, idly holding out a hand and scratching behind the ears of a curious nug. “Honestly, Madanach, I've seen it for myself and it's harmless. Look at Leliana, have you ever seen her so, well, friendly and cheerful?”

Madanach had to agree he had not.

“And Alistair's having fun too – I think he might be adopting that one,” Elisif said, indicating where Alistair was cooing over the nug he'd made particular friends with. “And look at Dorian!”

Dorian was kneeling in the snow, looking utterly impassive despite being surrounded by several nugs, including two in his lap, one on his shoulder and one on his head.

“I didn't know you were the nug type,” Madanach said, not bothering to repress the smile.

“I'm not,” Dorian said airily. “I'm merely tolerating their presence. I've named that one Sirloin, that's his sister Tenderloin, this is Shankle and the one on my head is Brisket. Varric's got some marvellous recipes I simply have to experiment with.”

“What – no! No eating them!” Elisif cried. “Dorian, they're cute.”

Madanach shot a glance at Maia but mercifully she wasn't paying any attention, being too focused on the nugs she was playing with.

“They're a delicacy among dwarves, Blue-eyes,” Varric said, Bianca at his side as he dozed under a tree. “Don't worry, I'm not going to shoot any in front of Maia. But you don't know what you're missing.”

Elisif actually cried out at the thought, and then she noticed a few Carta smugglers in the distance, looking rather thoughtful and that was when she decided enough was enough.

“No. Eating. The Nugs,” Elisif said firmly. “Not at Nug Day anyway, if you hunt a few on the quiet in your own time, I'm not going to raise too many complaints.”

“Good, because they're feeding half of Haven,” Varric said, closing his eyes. “Ideals don't fill hungry stomachs, Blue-eyes.”

“He's got a point,” Madanach said, picking up a stray baby nug and carefully returning it to the rest of the litter. “We're very fond of our goats in the Reach, we still eat them if need be.”

“I know,” Elisif sighed. “But you don't need to use Maia to do it. You know illusion magic, you do it if we need nugs for food.”

“Will do,” Madanach said cheerfully, already wondering what sort of deal he might be able to negotiate with the Carta and if Varric might be amenable to being the middleman.

Meanwhile Alistair was still watching Leliana with a smile on his face, feeling rather smug at it all having actually worked.

“Having fun?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“You're an utter bastard,” Leliana said, putting the baby nug down as she glanced up to glare at him. “You and the Herald between you are undermining my ability to do my job.”

“Oops,” Alistair smirked. “Don't worry, if any important news comes in, we'll find you.”

“That's not the point!” Leliana saw the way Alistair had started pouting and gave up. Why she was feeling so sentimental lately, she had no idea. First Elisif being all passionate and friendly and insisting on believing in the good in people and in Leliana in particular, and the _hugging,_ and then somehow talking her into non-violent options (the fact Butler had been successfully apprehended and provided some fascinating leads was not something Leliana was prepared to discuss with her, not yet), and now her old friend Alistair had turned up and was reminding her of her younger self. Of how she'd seen a vision and genuinely offered to help without really being sure what to do or if they really wanted her around, falling back on a bard's mask but finding herself charmed by Alistair's naive sweetness and good humour anyway. She didn't think they'd ever have worked as a couple, and he'd been too busy crushing on Lyra to go for her, not until it became obvious Lyra would never leave Zevran… but Leliana was just a bit too cynical to settle for being anyone's second choice. And these days, romance was the last thing on her mind. Justinia was gone. The world needed fixing. Leliana didn't have time for love in her life. It was a distraction she didn't need. 

But perhaps she could spare an afternoon a week to play with some nugs. And if she had her old friend Alistair's company at the same time, she could put up with that, she supposed.

“The nugs are cute,” she admitted. “I – all right. Thank you. But don't you dare make a habit of dragging me away from work. The Inquisition needs me.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Alistair said, grinning. “But you're not its slave, Leli. You don't have to give every waking hour.”

“If I had given more, maybe Justinia would still be alive,” Leliana said, never quite able to shake the nagging guilt over not having seen any of this coming. She'd suspected one side or the other might be up to something, but she'd found nothing untoward in any of the delegations, or in Justinia's party. She was missing an important piece of the puzzle, and the nug in her lap couldn't entirely distract her.

“Hey,” and Alistair's hand was on her back as he edged nearer. “It wasn't your fault. You did everything you could, and if it still wasn't enough, that wasn't your fault.”

“Then whose?” Leliana cried. “The Maker wouldn't let this happen if it could be prevented! Would he?”

Alistair's smile had faded, grimness on his face and sorrow in his eyes as he answered, uncharacteristic bitterness in his voice.

“He let five Blights happen, and it was our hard work that stopped the last one, and how many people died before the Wardens finally sorted things out?” Alistair told her. “The Maker's not doing anything, Leli. Or it's like Elisif says – maybe the gods can't intervene.”

“Gods?” Leliana said, raising an eyebrow. “You can't be thinking of converting.”

Alistair shrugged.

“Don't know. I lived in a Chantry monastery, I saw firsthand that being religious doesn't make you a good person. I rather like the idea that the gods used all their power to create the world and keep it going, they're no longer capable of saving us from ourselves, just helping when they can. It just makes sense, you know? They give us the tools, but we're the ones who have to use them. So if people don't use them or misuse them, it's not the gods' fault.”

“Multiple gods. You're starting to believe that?” Leliana asked, surprised that Alistair of all people might start thinking of deconverting… but he'd never been the most devout of Andrastians, and it seemed the Tamrielic creed was more about what you did, not what you believed. Alistair was the sort to get behind any path that let you take action. Contemplative spiritual practice was lost on him.

“Makes as much sense as having one, more if anything,” Alistair said. “Instead of one big all-powerful god who could fix the world but for reasons best known to himself, isn't, we could have several less powerful gods who would like to fix it all for us but can't, so help out the heroes instead. I'm all right with that. Also it turns out their goddess Mara helps recovering addicts. They've got a whole set of prayers, chants and meditations to help addicts stay clean. Borkul was telling me about it, although he also told me to keep it to myself, so if you could not mention that Borkul the Beast says his evening prayers to the Tamrielic goddess of love and compassion, I'd be really grateful, because he might hit me and I like my teeth.”

Leliana filed that information away, because that was a gem and you never knew when you might need to make use of Borkul worshipping the goddess Mara, not to mention that the big Orc apparently had a weakness for some substance or other. Worth knowing.

“I won't say a word,” Leliana promised, and then it occurred to her to wonder why Alistair would care that the Tamrielic goddess of love had a ministry for recovering addicts.

“Wait,” she whispered. “Recovering- Alistair? What do you mean? Is it… is it lyrium?”

But he didn't take it, did he?? He'd never got as far as taking Templar vows, they'd never needed to order any in during the Blight, Leliana hadn't known he'd ever tried it. And yet he could block magic, and didn't you need lyrium for that?

“No,” said Alistair quietly. “It's… fuck it, Leli. I was a fucking drunk in Kirkwall. There wasn't anything left for me to do in life except mercenary work and then spend my wages in the Hanged Man on booze and streetwalkers. They stopped letting me in the classy brothel in Hightown within a year of me moving there. Eventually after about four or five years, Arl Teagan found me and took me back to Redcliffe and I've been sober ever since. Mostly. But there's been lapses and… Leli, I don't like who I am when I'm drunk. I'm not exactly keen on me sober, but drunk me is just awful. You need to keep me off the booze. Varric knows, he doesn't drink either, he's helping. Borkul knows, he's helping too. I – I wasn't going to tell you, but you're my friend and you should know, so you can threaten to knife me if you see me with booze in my hands, and that's why I came to see you the other night and not the tavern – if I went there, I knew I'd probably want a drink so I came to see you instead and when I did have to go to the tavern, I made sure I told you to come get me and...”

Leliana might be a spymaster but she wasn't completely heartless and she'd known him a long time. She took his hand.

“Oh Alistair,” she whispered. “I wish you'd told me sooner. Of course I'll help. You ever want to talk, you come and see me. I can make a bit of time for you if I'm not dealing with an emergency or in a Council meeting. And… if the Mara worship helps, I don't think Andraste would mind. Only you probably shouldn't mention it to anyone else...”

“Probably not,” Alistair admitted ruefully. “It's not worship, not exactly. I just ask her for help.”

“Does she say anything back?” Leliana asked. She suspected not… but it was worth asking.

“No,” Alistair sighed. “But at least I don't find myself taking it quite as personally as when I used to pray to Andraste and she never responded. And the meditation techniques do work.”

“That's good to hear,” Leliana told him, wishing she could do more to help, and wondering why a heathen goddess was better at helping addicts than Andraste's own Chantry, and if perhaps anything could be done about that, when she became aware of movement out of the corner of her eye.

“I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?” 

Grand Enchanter Fiona, with a grinning Madanach at her back, and she seemed nervous about something. And to Leliana's eyes, that something was something to do with Alistair. Curious.

“Not at all,” Leliana replied, letting Alistair's hand go, and there was a thing, Alistair was looking a little nervous too, but happy. Very happy indeed, and all his attention was on Madanach.

Dear sweet Maker. Leliana hadn't realised Alistair even fancied men – well, perhaps Alistair hadn't either. Or perhaps it was just hero-worship. Alistair had certainly idolised Duncan after all. Might not have been sexual but it was definitely love, and if Alistair had a thing for older male father figures…

Leliana decided this situation required further watching. Fiona put off her game by Alistair, and Alistair crushing on married Madanach. Given the potential for all this to blow up in everyone's face, Leliana resolved to pay close attention. But right now, Fiona seemed to want to talk to her.

“Did you need something, Grand Enchanter?” Leliana asked, doing her best to look neutral and friendly and definitely not like she was up to anything underhand or anything.

“Not exactly,” Fiona said, eyes constantly glancing to Alistair. “But I had some news. I've decided to appoint an official liaison to the Inquisition. He'll attend meetings with your council, bring messages between us, represent us. I'd go myself, but with Enchanter Vivienne around...”

She didn't finish the sentence and Leliana just smiled and nodded. She'd been there in Val Royeaux when the mage rebellion started. She'd seen the brutality from the Templars, helped the mages in secret on Justinia's orders. She also knew Enchanter Vivienne had spent the entire episode at her lover's chateau outside the city and left the mages to it, despite being a First Enchanter with a Circle to represent. She knew what would likely happen if Vivienne and Fiona met. A liaison was best for everyone.

“Who is it, Lysas?” Leliana asked. Fiona shook her head and Madanach's grin widened.

“No,” Fiona said, smiling sweetly. “Leliana, meet my re-appointed Enchanter-General who will be acting as official liaison from the free mages to the Inquisition. Madanach, you know Leliana, don't you.”

“I do indeed, she helped rescue me from the Venatori,” Madanach purred, looking like the cat that got the cream. “Hello, Sister Nightingale. And hello Alistair bion. I'm Enchanter-General again.”

“Wow. _Brilliant!_ ” Alistair whispered, clearly impressed. “So what do I call you then? I've never met an Enchanter-General before.”

“I think I might be the first,” Madanach admitted. “But you can just call me Madanach.”

“Madanach,” Alistair said, looking a little awestruck. “Thank you.”

“You don't need to thank me, bion,” Madanach said gently, which surprised Leliana. She'd known they were friends, but she'd not fully realised just how mutual the fondness was getting.

This really did have the potential to go horribly badly. Definitely worth keeping an eye on.

“Congratulations, Madanach,” Leliana told him. “I'm looking forward to working with you. As will Josie, although I can't speak for Cullen. I can't promise you'll be in all the meetings but we'll definitely want to consult you in matters arcane, or that concern the rebellion.”

“Glad to hear it,” Madanach said. “But that wasn't the only reason I wanted to talk to you. I've got some information from one of our cells that you might want to hear about. Concerning some Inquisition soldiers being taken captive?”

They'd been missing for weeks, and Cullen had been on at her virtually on a daily basis for information. Help from the mage rebellion would be most welcome.

“What do you know?” Leliana asked.

So Madanach told her that a group of mage agents taking a shortcut on the outskirts of a marsh in south Ferelden called the Fallow Mire had seen some soldiers in Inquisition colours being taken prisoner by some Avvar barbarians from the mountains.

“They didn't think to report it earlier as we weren't allies at the time, but now they've been able to get here and find that out, they thought we should know,” Madanach said, sounding slightly apologetic. “Also the Avvar have mages, are armed and dangerous, and they were taking the soldiers into a dangerous mire that was a recent plague zone. They didn't fancy their chances. But they do believe the Avvar have taken your men and women to somewhere called Hargrave Keep?”

“I know the place,” Leliana said grimly. “It's been abandoned for decades. If the Avvar have retreated there, they want something. It's not somewhere they've had a presence in since Ferelden was founded. And they do not generally take prisoners – they believe surrender is dishonourable, and those who die in battle are guaranteed a place in paradise when they die. If they have our people, they did this for a reason. They want our attention. Thank you, Madanach. I'll see about sending scouts out there to see what they want. Where are the agents who saw them? I may need to interview them.”

“An elven mage called Sketch, former apostate who used to run with some sort of Orlesian spy crew,” Madanach told her, and Leliana could barely contain her excitement.

“Sketch?? He's here?” Leliana gasped. “Maker, he was part of _my_ Orlesian spy crew! I need to find him at once!”

Madanach pointed her in the right direction with a knowing smile, and soon after that the nugs dispersed, and while Elisif was overseeing Maia's goodbyes to the other children, and Alistair was chatting to Borkul about something, Madanach sauntered over to where Fiona was staring at Alistair.

“Grand Enchanter,” Madanach said, inclining his head slightly. “I can't help but notice you seem drawn to young Alistair. Did you want me to introduce you properly?”

Fiona started, went scarlet and shook her head, backing away nervously.

“No. No, that won't be necessary. I can leave him alone, it's fine, he's a grown man after all, thirty years old by this point, Andraste, he can't be thirty already, I-” Fiona pulled herself together and narrowed her eyes at Madanach suspiciously. “This is none of your concern, Madanach.”

“So he is your son, then,” Madanach said, feeling ridiculously pleased at having caught her out. “Your illegitimate son that the Circle never let you keep. Conceived with Maric Theirin while you were still a Warden, is that right?”

Fiona had gone from scarlet to ashen, staring at him in horror.

“How in the world did you find out?” Fiona hissed. “Never mind. It is _still_ none of your concern!”

“Is it Alistair's?” Madanach asked, falling into step beside her, determined not to let this go. “He believes his mother is a Redcliffe maid who died in childbirth. He doesn't know she's alive and _right here._ I think he deserves to know that, don't you?”

“It does not… Madanach, he's an adult,” Fiona snapped. “He does not need his mother.”

“Are you sure about that?” Madanach said, his turn to glare. “Have you spoken to him? Really spoken to him? He's putting a brave face on it, but the boy is not all right! He thinks he's hearing the Calling, he's been lost and lonely without a purpose for over a decade, he was in exile for four years, and he'll latch on to anyone who's remotely nice to him! He needs all the friends he can get… and having his mother would mean the world to him.”

Fiona closed her eyes, pain on her face – she knew he was hearing the Calling and it broke her heart… but not nearly so much as knowing what might cause it.

“I am trying to find out what's causing it,” Fiona said quietly. “He is only thirty, he's been a Warden for a decade, he's not old enough for it to happen so soon. The only thing I can think of is the influence of one called the Architect. He is why I'm no longer a Warden. He has power over the Taint, I've seen him speed it up. He may have removed it from me entirely. I know it vanished, and every attempt to re-initiate me failed. Eventually they sent me back to the Circle. Alistair had been born by that time, I'd taken him to his father. If I hadn't been a mage, I might have gone back to Ferelden to find him, you know.”

Madanach did know all too well, but her comments about the Architect intrigued him.

“Who's the Architect?” he asked. “Elisif and I figured out it might be a demon doing it.”

“Also a possibility,” Fiona said grimly. “I don't know which I'd prefer. The Architect is a sentient darkspawn. Last I saw, he was taking Grey Warden blood and giving it to darkspawn to make them sentient too. He wanted peace between our peoples and to stop Blights forever, and his master plan was to put every sentient being in Thedas through the Joining to do it. That would kill anything between a third and half of them and leave the rest Grey Wardens. Truly to this day I do not know whether he was a brilliant mind, an evil horror or simply mad. Maybe something of all three. If he were here...” She shuddered at the thought before shaking her head. “No. This is not his style, not murdering the Divine and cracking open the Fade. It is too flashy, too obvious. He was always subtler, working in the shadows, and his intent was not to wage war. He would at least try and negotiate first.”

But the Wardens were missing, and now Madanach had heard sentient darkspawn were a thing, he had to wonder if the Architect or another like him had approached the Wardens with an alternate proposition. Why, Sithis only knew. But he'd need to get Fiona to share her story with Eola. More research needed, most definitely.

But before that, there was the little matter of reconciling Fiona and Alistair.

“So will you talk to Alistair then?” Madanach pressed. “Look, you don't have to tell him he's your son, not right away. But he could use a friend.”

Fiona looked away, shivering in the fading light of late afternoon in the Frostbacks.

“If I talk to him, there's an excellent chance I will end up breaking down in tears and telling him everything,” Fiona said softly. “He'll likely think me a hysterical madwoman, and even if he believes me, what if he rejects me? He has every right to, especially his life has been as hard as you say.”

“At least give him the chance,” Madanach told her, remembering having to tell Argis. He'd have preferred for Argis never to know, to be safe, to just be an unknown young boy living with his Nord mother. But his mother had been killed when the Nords had sacked Markarth, and Madanach had been left with a terrified ten year old brought to him and no real option but to tell him he did in fact still have a parent alive. And it had been awkward at first, with Argis simultaneously in awe of him but terrified, and Madanach trying to get to know his son better, trying to protect him from Mireen, help him cope with Inga's loss, recognise his boy was a Nord with all that entailed, and try and adjust accordingly. But he'd got there and it had been worth it.

Maybe it would be worth it for Fiona too. But Madanach was sensible enough to know this was something he couldn't force her into.

“I will think about it,” Fiona said quietly. “In the meantime, I will at least try and talk to him. He does at least deserve that much.”

So Madanach left Fiona to it as she walked over to make small talk with Elisif and Alistair, and fuss over Maia, who'd started excitedly telling Fiona all about her new bodyguard. Good girl, helping tweak Fiona's maternal instincts without even trying. Madanach was proud of her.

So, a prestigious new job, a rebellion to organise again, and a little side project in getting Alistair his ma back. Madanach's life was looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, it's all off to the Fallow Mire, where there's Avvar to fight, and a bit of culture shock for everyone concerned.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elisif's off to rescue her soldiers from the Avvar, but they've heard about her and many are curious about why one of their own's ended up serving Andraste and no one seems to know who she is. The resulting confrontation and cross-cultural exchanges could have the power to change everything. Meanwhile Alistair's got his first chance to die a heroic death... but the taint's not the only thing in his blood, and it turns out Alistair's got a heritage he never dreamed of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this one digs into the lore a bit, or rather, introduces some new bits. The full ramifications of this one will take some time to be felt, but they'll certainly be interesting. It brings out the Avvar for the first time, who by this point have heard tales one of their own is the Herald of Andraste. It's the Fallow Mire chapter and all sorts of things are going to come to light...

Why had Alistair agreed to this. Why, why?? It was dark, cold, had barely stopped raining, literally everything was covered in muddy water, and then there was the walking dead. True, that meant for pretty explosions every so often when Elisif's sword sliced into them, but honestly Alistair was getting tired of even that.

At least this camp was dry… ish. All the same, Alistair wished he'd stayed at Haven. Or gone with Liriel and Solas on their big trip to the Forbidden Oasis to investigate that shard temple, and do some magical experiments. Something involving the Immolate spell's targeting aspect mixed with a top-level spell of the worryingly-named Tamrielic School of Destruction Magic, and despite Madanach's passionate insistence the school was more properly a school of energy manipulation rather than destruction, it did seem to involve an awful lot of blowing things up. Nevertheless, the military implications were profound, and so Elisif had given her blessing as long as the necessary development work took place out in the Orlesian desert, far away from anyone's home. Which meant Liriel and Solas, along with Vivienne, and a selection of Loyalists and MageGuard both, not to mention Cicero and Eola, and Iron Bull and Sera along to keep an eye on things, plus a few Templars from Cullen, all heading off to find some new ways of setting fire to things. Madanach agreeing for the Templars to go along had surprised everyone, but Madanach had just shrugged and said anything involving an out of control fireball would likely need them, as long as they remembered their place and didn't interfere with the mages' personal lives or privacy.

Anyway, they'd been preparing to leave, Alistair had been in two minds about whether to go or not… and then Elisif had learned that the Avvar tribe that had taken Inquisition soldiers had done it as a personal challenge to her. Their leader wanted to prove whose gods were better, the Avvar gods or Andraste, and wanted to fight the Herald to find out. And Elisif had wanted him to help.

“You're not even Andrastian, do they know that?” Alistair had pointed out.

“How would they, I don't advertise it,” Elisif had shrugged. “And I'm representing Andraste, even if I'm not a worshipper, according to the Inquisition anyway. My own personal beliefs aren't important.”

So here they were, standing up for Andraste, in the most gods-forsaken part of Ferelden there was. Alistair hoped she appreciated it. As it was, he was in the interesting position of standing up for his Prophet while at the same time focusing his spiritual life on Lady Mara, Handmaiden of Kyne and Mother of the World. It wasn't something he'd have foreseen, but between the shielding amulet Fiona had given him (and that was nice of her, the Grand Enchanter herself turning up to see him off and practically thrusting the amulet into his hands, saying it should duplicate Madanach's illusion shield but to carefully document any unexpected effects for her to look at) and the meditations on Mara Borkul had taught him, his symptoms were OK. Not great. But OK.

It just wasn't the same though. He could no longer hear the Calling, but it seemed his darkspawn senses were likewise muffled, because he couldn't sense any darkspawn taint in Blackwall either… and it wasn't the same as Madanach's magic. Madanach didn't just stop the Calling… he made him feel safe. He'd cast the spell and then they'd cuddle, Alistair with his head on Madanach's chest while Madanach ruffled his hair and rubbed his back and shoulders and carefully weaved calming spells over him and left him with the tension and worry draining out of him.

No one here was going to cuddle him and tell him everything was all right, and the meditations on Mara notwithstanding, it was hard to truly let go and believe in the love of a goddess he'd never even heard of a month ago. Besides, Mara's teachings often seemed to focus on taking care of yourself so as not to let down your loved ones. Difficult to do that when you didn't really have any. Leliana wasn't here, Teagan wasn't here and what he did have was Blackwall as his tentmate, Dorian and Varric providing light entertainment… and a Herald of Andraste who kept smiling at him. A beautiful, married Herald of Andraste.

No good could come of this, which was why Alistair was hiding in his tent instead of sitting round the campfire with the rest of them. He couldn't stand any more of Elisif sitting next to him, giggling and smiling and occasionally touching him and… 

She needed to _stop flirting_. It would bring disaster on them all, didn't she see that? 

But Elisif seemed oblivious and so Alistair was hiding in here. Where he was alone. And safe.

“Mara, love and protect me, Mara give me strength to endure, Mara hold out your hand and give me peace. Mara's peace be upon me. Mara's peace be upon Leliana. Mara's peace be upon Uncle Teagan. Mara's peace be upon Borkul. Mara's peace be upon Bethany. Mara's peace be upon Maia. Mara's peace be upon Madanach. Mara's peace be upon Lyra, wherever she is. Mara's peace be upon Elis-!”

Alistair gasped as the tent flap fluttered open and Elisif slipped in, a bright magical light hovering at her shoulder and a hopeful smile on her face.

“Not interrupting, am I?” Elisif said, crawling into the tent to sit on Blackwall's bedroll. “Sorry, don't mind the light. It's so dark in this weather, and a torch isn't practical. It's one of the few spells I can cast without trouble.” Her face fell as she saw Alistair's worried expression. “Oh no. Not you as well. I had enough of this when Cassandra saw me cast it. It took me an hour to convince her I really wasn't a mage.”

“Oh, no, no it's fine,” Alistair managed to say. “I just… didn't know ordinary people… well, you're not ordinary, are you, I suppose it's different for you. Er. Did you need something, Herald? I was about to turn in...”

Elisif's amused grin and flash of interest in her eyes made him wish he really hadn't mentioned bed.

“The way I hear it, you're not exactly ordinary yourself,” Elisif purred as she edged nearer, and Alistair swallowed nervously, throat suddenly dry as part of him wanted to fling himself headlong into the swamp, and the other…

The other wanted to roll her over and do unspeakable things on Blackwall's bedroll, but Alistair somehow didn't think Blackwall would especially pleased at that, and Blackwall and Madanach collectively chasing him wasn't something he wanted to deal with, not now, not ever.

Mercifully Elisif stopped, reaching into her pocket for a piece of paper.

“How's the Calling?” Elisif said quietly, smile fading. “Are you alright? Is the amulet working?”

“Well enough,” Alistair said, fingering it anxiously, although he had a feeling Elisif's predatory moment was over… for now at least. “I can't sense the taint in Blackwall either but I don't suppose that's a problem. Just don't expect me to be able to warn you about darkspawn.”

“I don't think there are any round here,” Elisif promised. “Just undead and Avvar warriors, and I can deal with those. With your help, of course.”

“I'll have your back,” Alistair said, feeling a lot more comfortable with Elisif looking the other way. Made him feel a bit less like a piece of meat.

“Glad to hear it,” Elisif said, inclining her head. “Tell me, were those mantras to Mara I heard as I came in? Is that allowed? I didn't think good Andrastians were supposed to pray to other gods.”

“We're not, but...” Alistair wondered what to tell her, before deciding he might as well admit it before Madanach told her. “They're mantras to focus. On what's important. They keep my mind off… off the drink. I can't have it, see. It… it does things to me. The mantras are helping. Borkul taught me them. If it works, it works.”

Elisif's expression had flitted from surprise, to sympathy… to bitter understanding.

“I thought I recognised them,” she said grimly. “It's a prayer to Mara for the safety of oneself and one's loved ones. Reminds us of who and what's important. It's a particular favourite for addicts. Yes, I know it. Forgive me, I… shouldn't intrude.”

“It's fine,” Alistair said, shrugging. “You might as well know. I already told Borkul, Madanach knows, only a matter of time before you found out.” And if it put her off him, all the better – the Herald of Andraste wouldn't want a damn drunk in her bed.

“Well, maybe this will help,” Elisif told him, handing over the paper. “It's… something else to meditate on.”

Alistair opened it and saw… lines drawn like clawmarks. Lines in what looked like three distinct blocks, and underneath words in Thedosian. FUS, RO and DAH.

He had no idea what it meant… but something about it seemed familiar. Like he'd seen the language before.

“What does it mean,” Alistair whispered, but something in him knew. Force and pressure, delicately balanced until with a little push… It was all in the lines but how he knew this, he couldn't say.

“FUS RO DAH,” Elisif whispered, and the tent shook with the force in her breath. If she'd shouted that, it could have had half the camp on its knees. It certainly had Alistair going weak at his.

“Force balance push,” she translated, pointing at the letters on the page. “It's in the tongue of dragons.”

“They talk?” Alistair whispered, even as his mind went back to Flemeth, an old witch who could change into a dragon. But she didn't have her own language… did she?

It occurred to Alistair maybe Tamrielic dragons could talk, and if that wasn't unnerving, nothing was.

“Yes,” Elisif whispered, sounding delighted. “And their voice carries power. Especially if you are one born with Dovah Sos. Dragon blood. Like me.”

“Right,” Alistair whispered, remembering what Madanach had told him about Dragonborns. Able to breathe fire and do other things. Maia had shouted something to breathe fire – yoltersul, or something like that. And this… this was part of it. “What does it do?”

Elisif just grinned and patted the back of his hand. 

“Meditate on it and find out,” Elisif whispered. “You need to feel the Thu'um within yourself before you can project it into a Shout. That's what you need to do. Feel it. Meditate on it. When you truly understand it, you'll be able to Shout it to the world and bring it to its knees.”

Smiling seductively at him, she stroked his cheek… and let him go, crawling away and heading for the tent entrance.

“FUS RO DAH. Force balance push,” Elisif told him. “You think on it, Alistair. See if you really do have dragon blood.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Alistair staring a bit of paper with a Thu'um ringing in his head and something more frightening than the Calling to worry about. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Morning. Still raining. There was even lightning. Wonderful. Elisif didn't really have a problem with being called out to deal with challengers… but why, why did they have to pick a bog?? No saga anywhere ever had the heroes going to face the villain in a marsh.

When Elisif found this pathetic excuse for a wannabe-Nord, she was going to have some serious words on how to pick dramatic venues for honourable battle. As it was, thank Meridia for Dawnbreaker, because the explosions sending undead either running for their lives or crumbling to dust were the only things making this place remotely bearable.

That, and the people she had with her. Blackwall with his calm reassurance, Varric with his unerring ability to make her laugh, Dorian with his sarcastic quips, and Alistair. Alistair with his smile and shyness (except he wasn't, not really, he was just nervous around _her_ and Elisif liked that even more) and the way he was whispering “fus ro dah, fus ro dah, fus ro dah!” under his breath, playing with the intonation and clearly trying to wrap his head around it.

Up ahead was a cabin, outline barely visible in the storm that was still lashing down, but the green glow off to one side did help. Wait… green glow?

Elisif's heart sank as she saw a sealed Fade rift up ahead, felt her mark reacting… and saw someone watching it. The horns on his outfit and the paint and furs all screamed Reachman… but this man was well over six foot tall. A Nord looking like a tribal Reachman.

Avvar. It could only be an Avvar tribesman, with a huge warhammer at his back, and Elisif truly hated fighting two-handed warriors. One hit and you were on your knees, two and you were finished. It was a matter of keeping moving and ducking under the hammer to get in there with your own blade. Oddly, Cicero really liked fighting two-handed fighters – he moved too quickly to get hit, would get in under their swing and stab them before they realised what was going on. But Cicero wasn't here, and were it not for the Thu'um, Elisif would be worried.

As it was, her best option was to charge in, Shout him down and stab him quickly, and hope she didn't have nightmares of murdering Torygg or Madanach or Maia for weeks after. But she wasn't sure this man was the chieftain who was challenging her. He wouldn't just be standing here watching a Fade rift with no guards. She had a feeling this man was the nearest thing the Avvar had to a scholar.

All the same, he had a warhammer, which meant he probably knew how to use it. Elisif wasn't sure she wanted to take chances… but if Avvar culture was anything like that of the Nords, Elisif was sure of one thing. It was rare for any Nord to start a fight with someone who'd just helped them win one. 

And so she raised her hand and unsealed the rift, watching as the green light lashed out and forced it open, six tendrils birthing demons.

“Get them!” Elisif shouted, drawing Dawnbreaker and charging into battle. Blackwall powered in alongside her, and Alistair was also sprinting forward, Dorian's barrier falling into place around them all even as Bianca's bolts sent the nearest undead corpse staggering back. And to Elisif's relief, the Avvar unshouldered his warhammer and smashed it into the skull of one of the walking dead, and battle commenced, with him fighting on their side. And sure enough, after the demons were dealt with and the rift sealed, the Avvar shouldered his hammer and turned towards her expectantly.

“You sealed it!” he said, amazed. “You healed the tear in her skin!”

Elisif nodded, not sure what to say to in response, and wondering whose skin.

“They're called Fade rifts,” she told him. “They're a hole between our world and the spirit world.”

The Avvar laughed, which struck Elisif as strange because she'd not said anything that funny.

“I know that, kinswoman,” he said, grinning broadly, and that accent struck Elisif to the core because it was Nordic, wasn't it? Sounded like a stronger version of the Whiterun accent, in fact it reminded her a little of Vilkas. Scrub the paint off this man and put him in scaled armour and he'd not look out of place in Jorrvaskr. The reminder of home brought tears to her eyes. “Surely you know who the Lady of the Skies is. You may have lived among lowlanders but did your ma and da never tell you of the Lady?”

Elisif opened her mouth to say no, but in her heart she knew otherwise. In her heart, she knew exactly who the Lady of the Skies was, because a prayer to her had brought her here. Elisif untucked the amulet of Kynareth she was wearing and showed it to him.

“Yes, kinsman, I've more than heard of Kyne,” Elisif said quietly, and at the astounded look in his eyes, she knew she'd hit the target.

“Don't say her name!” he gasped. “The Lady's name's not to be bandied about around outsiders! By the gods, are you her? The one the lowlanders call the Herald?”

Elisif nodded. 

“Yes,” she said, straightening up and staring him in the eye. “Is that going to be a problem? I mean, are you part of the tribe that wants to kill me?”

“Aye, but it's not my job,” the Avvar sighed. “I've got better things to do than sign up for a whelp's trophy hunt. Rites for the dead, mending for the bleeding, a dagger for the dying. That's what I do. They call me the Skywatcher. I serve the Lady of the Skies. I'd heard the Herald was one of our kin, but no one seemed to know her tribe. I wondered from your accent if you were raised by Avvar parents in the Lowlands but you wouldn't have got one of the Lady's amulets in the Lowlands, and no true worshipper of the Lady would raise their child among outsiders. What's your name, Herald? Where are you really from?”

Elisif wondered if he'd even believe her. But she saw no reason to lie. No point pretending she was an Avvar tribeswoman to someone who'd see right through that.

“I'm Elisif,” she told him. “Elisif of Solitude. Also known as Elisif Dragonborn.” The true test of how far the cultural similarities went. Did he know what a Dragonborn was… and had he ever heard of a legendary city in another land called Solitude.

“Dragonborn???” Skywatcher cried. “By the – all right, lass. You have a legend-mark like that, you better have the skill to back it up. Hellfire, I hope your gods really are smiling on you, because walking into Avvar territory claiming to have Hakkon's Breath, and with THAT on your head, is asking to see Sawenagarda sooner rather than later.”

Sawenagarda. Did he mean…?

“I've seen Sovngarde,” Elisif offered slyly. “It's pretty! Shor wasn't in but I got to fight Tsun. And Alduin. And then I came back. So you see, I'm really not afraid of your chief.”

“He's not chief,” Skywatcher shot back. “He'd like to be, which is why he's after your scalp, but Korth help me, you fought the father of Hakkon?? The Sky-Eater himself? And… you used the old term. Shovengarda. It's only skalds, augurs and skywatchers ever use that. Too hard for anyone else to get their tongue round. And they say Korth was called Shor, once upon a time. I swear, it's like you just walked out of a legend.”

“I get that a lot,” Elisif said sympathetically. “I'm not asking you to believe me, just point me in the direction of the one who wants to be King.”

“Not king,” Skywatcher said ominously. “Not Hoch-Kyninge. We left our home to be free of that, free of other holds' wars. Free from the dragon-crowned Winter That Walks. We'll call Hakkon to defend ourselves from enemies, and for the odd raid but we don't serve the Walking Winter's Woe any more.”

The Walking Winter's Woe, except he'd pronounced the words starting with a 'v' sound and the vowels were off… but he'd said it in Tamrielic… sort of. Mangled and garbled Tamrielic, just as his pronunciation of Hoch-Kyninge was actually him saying High King in the same dialect, but he'd said it and it quoted a verse all Nords knew.

“Maw unleashing razor snow, Of dragons from the blue brought down,” Elisif said softly in her native tongue, and she saw the recognition in his eyes… and the fear.

“Gebyrten het Walken Winter Woe, ye Hoch-Kyninge in hem Jagte Krone,” he finished, and he was speaking a language kin to Tamrielic, Elisif knew it. Nords. They were Nords. Long separated Nords who'd clearly left Skyrim rather than fight against a High King they disagreed with and ended up in Thedas, but Nords. She'd found Nords, and the familiarity made her want to cry.

“High Queen,” she whispered in Tamrielic. “High Queen in her Jagged Crown.”

Skywatcher backed away, looking almost panicked.

“No,” he whispered. “How did ye find us? Are ye here to reconquer us?” He was lapsing in between the Tamrielic-Avvar tongue and the Thedosian common tongue in his panic, and Blackwall and Alistair were both advancing, and Elisif realised that Nords who'd left to live without a High King wouldn't take the presence of a High Queen lightly.

“No!” Elisif cried, reverting to Thedosian so as not to alarm her companions any further, hands reaching out to hold Blackwall and Alistair back. “I'm not here to conquer land for Skyrim, I didn't even intend to come here! The Lady sent me to help heal the sky after some fetcher broke it!”

Skywatcher laughed bitterly, shaking his head and looking away… but he'd lowered his weapon.

“Aye. It fits. It all fits. Lady's Breath, it wasn't Andraste who sent you, was it? That's just what the lowlanders think, isn't it? By the gods, our chief's son thinks he's challenging Andraste's messenger, but he's actually taken on the Lady's own, and she's got Dragon's Breath on top of that! I don't know what this means for us, but if you're just here on the Lady's bidding, then I won't stop yer. By Korth, this'll be a fight to remember! I'll be listening out for your Thu'um, Herald Elisif. Show me you really do have the blood of the Dov, and I'll spread word of you to my kin meself.”

Elisif reached out to Blackwall and Alistair, placing her hands on their wrists to lower their weapons, and Elisif was pleased to hear Bianca being put away as well.

“Thank you,” Elisif said, saluting him with a fist to the chest. “I shall give him one chance to hand over my soldiers and stand down, and if he refuses, he will hear my Thu'um for himself.”

“Spoken like a true Daughter of Tyrdda,” Skywatcher laughed. “Well then, fair travels to ye, Herald. I'll be sure to come see who stands victorious and who's tellin' the story in Shovena-garda.”

Elisif grinned and told him she hoped this warrior's storytelling skills were up to the job, and took her leave.

It was only once he was out of earshot the trouble started, as Elisif found herself surrounded by four Thedosian men all staring her down.

“You, er, want to tell us what that was all about then, Lady Herald?” Blackwall said, folding his arms as he came to stand in front of her.

“I was just thinking that myself,” Dorian said from her left hand side, folding his arms and managing to ignore the rain if it meant getting some answers. “You were talking to him. In his own language.”

“Not exactly,” Varric said, appearing on her right. “Your pronunciation was different. A bit softer, a bit more flowing and less guttural, a little bit like how elves talk. His was harsher. More consonants. But you understood each other, didn't you, Blue-eyes?”

“Had some shared cultural beliefs too if I'm not mistaken,” Dorian observed. “And the only way that could have happened is if Tamrielites had been here before.”

“I swear I don't know how they got here, or who their ancestors were,” Elisif said swiftly, before anyone started drawing conclusions… only she had a feeling it was a bit late for that. 

“Oh, I think we can make a few educated guesses as to where their ancestors came from!” Blackwall said scornfully, folding his arms and staring her down. 

“Wait a second,” Alistair said from behind her, sounding a bit confused, and cute as he was, he was no scholar and never had been. “Do you mean the Avvar are really Nords from Skyrim, or used to be?”

Exasperated sigh from Blackwall, and Varric nodded.

“Yes, Mabari, that's exactly what we're saying,” Varric told him wearily. “Elisif's not the first Nord to come here. The ancestors of the Avvar came from Skyrim.”

Alistair shook his head and his voice when it came sounded on the verge of hysteria. 

“That can't be true though. Because… because the Avvar and Fereldans, we've got the same ancestry, we're all descended from the Alamarri people who came from the island of Alamarr. Well, sort of. The first signs of them are on Alamarr, but we think they came from elsewhere, we just don't know… oh Maker. Look, it's not possible, because if the Avvar came from Skyrim, that means so did the Fereldans, and we can't be Nords, we just can't, we… Andraste have mercy.”

“Andraste was Fereldan,” Blackwall said, dawning horror in his voice. “Maker's _balls_. We owe our entire religion to your people coming here Maker knows however long ago??”

“Um,” was all Elisif could say to that, and then she realised Dorian had lost it completely and had dissolved into hysterical giggles. “Dorian, stop it!”

“I'm sorry,” Dorian wept, drying his eyes. “I don't think I can. This is all too hilarious. Here we are, all in terror and awe of there being this whole other land across the sea, and it turns out you people found us centuries ago! You gave us our entire religion in the first place! That's too precious for words!”

“Does that mean you'll stop talking then?” Blackwall muttered. Elisif ignored him, too busy trying to think through the ramifications. Because Andrastianism was completely different to Tamrielic religions, and while Andraste's ancestors were Nords, she hadn't been, and even if she had, the official religion had been founded by Orlesians centuries after she died, and while the Avvars remembered something of who they once had been, the Fereldans remembered nothing of where their Alamarri ancestors had come from.

“Look, this doesn't change anything,” Elisif said firmly. “Because no one in Skyrim remembers them leaving. It wasn't an official mission of conquest or exploration or anything. Just a group of dissidents leaving and never being heard of again and ending up settling on Alamarr. And by the time Andraste came along, they'd likely forgotten Tamriel. They certainly have now. And you're all thoroughly Thedosian now. So… so don't worry about it. It's not important.”

Except it might be. Because even though everyone did pull themselves together and fall in to continue the mission, Elisif couldn't help but think of Alistair, with his dragon blood. Dragon blood that must have come from the Nordic – maybe even Atmoran – ancestors who'd founded the Alamarri. And if Andraste had had those same ancestors… maybe she'd been Fereldan, but perhaps old legends that had since died out were remembered back then. Perhaps she really had called on Akatosh rather than some nameless Maker.

Maybe she'd even been Dragonborn and it had been her Voice, not her singing, that had compelled the Alamarri to follow. Maybe Elisif was more truly a Herald of Andraste than she'd ever thought. It was certainly becoming apparent that perhaps Thedas and Tamriel were closer linked than anyone had ever thought.

It did give Elisif a boost for the coming battle. She wasn't fighting down an outsider. She was fighting down one of her own, in a way. One who knew what a Dragonborn was. One who might recognise the Jagged Crown as well.

Elisif could definitely use that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Demons, undead, another Fade rift sealed, and the keep was looming up ahead. Along with a whole army of undead.

“Better get Dawnbreaker out, Herald,” Alistair said cheerfully. “Don't worry, darkspawn are far worse than this.”

“Not helpful, Mabari!” Varric cried as Bianca sent a mottled corpse flying.

“Never mind this lot, they're not important!” Blackwall shouted. “Just get to the keep.”

All the same, Elisif was loath to leave a foe behind her, and so she kept at it with Dawnbreaker, pushing forward with Alistair at her side and Dorian's barrier protecting them, and then one of the corpses exploded as it died, sending the rest running screaming, trailing Meridia's holy fire.

“Right, run for the Keep,” Elisif cried, and all five of them sprinted through the gatehouse… only to find more Avvar waiting for them, and these weren't bystanders, these were the advance guard.

“It's the Herald!” cried one.

“Get them before they can warn their chief!” Elisif shouted, and Alistair sprinted up to the walkway they were arranged on. Fire from Dorian had one screaming and then Alistair finished him off. Good boy. Elisif was very proud of him.

With the advance guard gone, all that was left now was opening the inner portcullis, and it turned out to be opened by a lever on the outer gatehouse that closed the outer gate at the same time. Well, it'd keep the dead off them. Then grab a few supplies and…

“Varric, what are you doing?” Elisif sighed as she realised the dwarf was not following her out. Rather, he had his picks out, fine Dwarven crafting, direct from Orzammar, recently purchased by the Inquisition off the Carta, and was having a good go at a locked door at the end of the rampart.

“Ssh, don't distract me, Blue-eyes, there's some good stuff in here, I swear it,” Varric told her, all his attention on the lock. Seconds later it sprang open and Varric stood back, proud of a job well done.

“Come on, let's see what's in here,” he said, leading the way, and Elisif sighed and followed him in.

All right, so there was some good stuff here, coin, valuables, a Dwarven crossbow piece that Varric swiped for Bianca there and then… and a book of Grey Warden songs and poetry.

Elisif passed it to Alistair and Blackwall, who both seemed to be going a bit teary-eyed as they flipped through it.

“Maker, I remember that one,” Alistair told him. “Used to sing it round the barracks in Denerim. It's about a Grey Warden on his calling saying goodbye to his lover. It's really sad. Nice tune though. Didn't really mean a lot to me back then, I was nineteen and thought I was immortal. I guess I've grown up.”

He glanced up at Elisif, smile off his face and looking serious for once, sadness in his eyes, and Elisif barely suppressed the urge to hug him. She settled for patting him awkwardly on the back instead, and Alistair smiled sadly before closing the book and passing it to Blackwall.

“You hang on to it,” he told him. “You're the Warden in good standing, I've been an outsider for years.”

Blackwall hesitated before taking the book off him, putting it in his pack and thanking Alistair.

“You're still a Warden as far as I'm concerned,” Blackwall said gruffly. “Thanks, lad. You want to borrow this, you just ask.”

“Thank you,” Alistair said, and the two men embraced, mutual backpats and then Alistair let Blackwall go.

“You might have longer than me anyway,” Alistair said, shrugging. “And you've got someone to miss you. You've got Bethany.”

“Aye, that I have,” Blackwall said, smiling fondly. “Maybe I'll show it to her. If anything happens, it might be something to remember me by.”

“Oh, I think it'll be a while before anything beats you in a fight,” Alistair said, grinning. “I've seen you in action, you're good! But just in case, let me take the dangerous bits. No one around to miss me if I die.”

Elisif bit her lip to avoid making a sound, because the nonchalance broke her heart. She'd miss him! And so would Madanach. And Maia – it had been hard enough peeling her off Alistair when they'd left, and had only succeeded because Madanach had promised Maia he would keep her safe while Alistair was away, and that didn't Mama need help rescuing the soldiers? Maia had seen the wisdom of that and made Alistair promise to look after Elisif.

Which really only increased his chances of doing something stupid and throwing his life away. So she waited while everyone else filed out before taking Alistair's arm.

“That's not true, Alistair,” she told him softly. “I'd miss you! And so would Maia. And Madanach likes you too.”

Bittersweet smile from Alistair, but at least he was smiling.

“I like you too, but you'd all cope without me,” Alistair said, placing a hand over hers. “World needs you, Elisif. It's not your job to protect me.”

“Maybe not, but don't you go flinging your life away either,” Elisif whispered. “You might be the first other Dragonborn I find in years who isn't either my kin or trying to kill me, you can't just die!”

Alistair frowned, almost glaring at her, and when he responded, it was with more bitterness than she was used to hearing from him.

“I'm hearing the Calling, Elisif,” Alistair hissed, eyes flashing furiously in the shadowed turret room, only the odd flash of lightning illuminating him. “I don't know how long I have until I turn into a horror, and if I don't die before then, you'll need to kill me when it happens. You can't expect me to think about preserving my life beyond each day as it comes, beyond even the next hour, because my time is short. So don't even think about asking me to preserve my doomed existence over anyone else's. Especially not yours.”

He ripped his arm from her hands and turned away, and Elisif wasn't sure what to say… because maybe the Calling wasn't real, but maybe it was, and she didn't have any evidence one way or the other, not yet, and giving him false hope would be an appalling betrayal. But she did know one thing.

“You've got at least a year,” Elisif cried, reaching out and grabbing at his shoulder, and the shock of her words had stopped him in his tracks. “In that dark future, it was a year from now and you were fine. No taint in sight.”

Alistair was turning, disbelieving… but she could see a glimmer of hope.

“Elisif, that's not possible, no one's gone a year with the Calling and no signs appearing physically,” Alistair said, glancing down at his hands and running a finger over his forearm. “They were probably subtle. Underneath the armour I was probably hideous.”

“Madanach had seen you without the armour, he didn't seem to think you looked out of the ordinary,” Elisif said, not elaborating on the exact circumstances in which Madanach had seen Alistair out of the armour. He didn't need to know.

“No...” Alistair breathed. “Elisif, this isn't possible, this isn't…!”

“Excuse me, are you two done with your little tete a tete?” Dorian called from the ramparts. “Only the weather is getting worse and we do have people to kill?”

Alistair glanced outside, sighed exasperatedly and with a little bow to Elisif, left. Leaving Elisif wondering if she'd done the right thing or just made things worse for them both. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

More Avvar nearer the keep, tougher than the last lot but still easy prey for them. And then the Great Hall – or what was left of it, and the Avvar chief and his friends within.

“Here comes the Herald!” the chief roared. “Here to die in the name of her false Lady Andraste!”

“Here for my soldiers and to send you to Sovngarde!” Elisif shouted in Tamrielic, Shield of Solitude on show and Dawnbreaker out, a High Queen in full battle-rage. “We'll get drunk on your heart-wine tonight! MUL QAH DIIV!”

Not one she used often, but when she wanted to impress, the First Dragonborn's power usually did the job. And so it proved, a dragon's aspect flickering into life around her as her strength and power surged. 

“Fusro dah, fus ro- fuck!” she heard Alistair gasp, and Blackwall just about kept his composure, while Dorian gasped “I say!” and Varric was clearly intent on remembering every second of this for a future book.

But the effect on the Avvar was even more marked.

“Dovahkiin?? No, cannot be!” one of the Avvar archers cried, and one of the three archers flung himself out of the hole in the back wall and fled, loath to fight a thing out of legend.

“All the more reason to fight her!” the Avvar chief cried, resplendent in antlered gear that really did owe more than a little inspiration to the Reachmen, and a big two-handed maul in his hands. “To battle! Let's give Korth's hall some famous new guests tonight!”

To their credit, the remaining Avvar didn't back down, and the two archers at the back of the hall, near the ruined throne dais, took aim. Elisif dodged the arrows, let Blackwall go tearing into the chief with Alistair, and turned her attention to the warrior with the shield.

“IIZ SLEN NUS!” she cried, freezing him solid, and Elisif left him behind, feeling that when the ice faded, he wouldn't be getting back up again. Alistair was busy facing off against the big Avvar, but the archers were keeping up steady fire and an arrow caught Alistair in the sword arm.

“Fall back!” she snapped at him. “Blackwall, go deal with the archers! Varric, help him! Dorian, keep a barrier on me!” With this bastard swinging a hammer about, she'd need all the protection she could get. And so she took a leaf out of Cicero's book and moved in fast, diving under his guard and letting Dragon Aspect power her blows… and to her delight the Avvar fell back under them. But he didn't actually fall… and then Dorian's barrier ran out at the worst possible moment, because he'd just taken a hit from one of the archers. And the Avvar dodged the blow she'd aimed at his head, and swung the hammer right at her.

Elisif had her shield up, but she had a horrible feeling it'd break under this, and she'd be lucky if her arm didn't suffer likewise, and then she'd be fighting one-armed and that never ended well for anybody. And her Thu'um hadn't recovered from the ice form Shout. Blackwall had killed the last of the archers and was coming back but would never make it, and if her friends avenged her that wouldn't save her, would it?

Movement to her right, and then a Thu'um split the air.

“FUS RO DAH!”

The Avvar chief went flying across the room and smacked into the wall and while he lay dazed on the ground, Blackwall changed direction and promptly gutted the man, before going through his pockets and producing a key, which he tossed to Varric.

“Think that'll be to wherever our soldiers are, let's search this place,” Blackwall said gruffly. “Anyone got a healing potion? Could use one after that.”

“Over here,” Dorian said from where he was going through the medical supplies. “I'm all right, by the way. Don't you worry about me. Oh, you weren't? Splendid. Good to know.”

Leaving Elisif staring at Alistair, who was staring at the dead Avvar and looking slightly hysterical.

“It worked,” Alistair whispered. “I don't know how, but it worked. I mean, I'd been meditating on the words like you said, but I didn't know… I wasn't sure how to say them. But it's not the words, it was the breathing, the words just shape it, I didn't realise that til I saw you do it. So I tried breathing like that, and then I saw you in trouble and… that's when it clicked. So I… so I shouted him away from you.”

And probably saved her a week's worth of nightmares, because although seeing the man Shouted away and then stabbed by Blackwall had been violent, at least it wasn't her doing. Well, maybe she'd still have nightmares of Ulfric or Miraak Shouting Maia or Madanach down and killing them. But at least it wouldn't be her doing it, which was something.

“Elisif??” Alistair was saying. “Elisif, say something, you look really pale. You can't look like you're about to collapse, I already feel like that, we can't have two of us having a nervous breakdown. Elisif, please tell me this is perfectly normal.”

“I'm sorry,” Elisif whispered. “I'm afraid you really are dragon-blooded. No one else could have been given a Shout last night, meditated on it a bit, and suddenly figured out how to use it in the middle of combat.”

“Oh,” Alistair said faintly. “I, er, think I need to sit down.”

Elisif helped him sit down on some crates near what would later turn out to be a Grey Warden banner and went to see how Varric was doing.

He'd found something. He had the door open, and was calling inside to the room's occupants. 

“All right, everyone calm down, I'm not an Avvar, you can probably tell, we're with the Inquisition. Herald's here, this is the rescue team, is everyone all right?”

Elisif took a look through the door to see about ten Inquisition soldiers all staring back up at her, unwashed, underfed, a few bruises but otherwise all right. Their faces lit up on seeing her.

“It's the Herald!” one whispered. “She came all the way to find us!”

“I told you Lady Elisif would come through for us,” another said proudly, and Elisif found herself smiling at them all.

“It's going to be all right,” she told them. “We're going to get you all back to Haven. We killed the Avvars, they won't be taking any more Inquisition people prisoner. Let's get you all back to camp.”

The evacuation commenced and soon the soldiers were on their way back, Dorian leading the way and Varric alongside him, with Blackwall bringing up the rear. Leaving Elisif helping Alistair to his feet. Alistair didn't say anything but as Elisif held out her hand, he took it without hesitation, fingers entwining with hers.

“Will you teach me?” Alistair said quietly. “Teach me more of those words? Tell me what it all means? Tell me it's going to be all right?”

“It's going to be all right,” Elisif told him, smiling involuntarily. “I'll look after you.”

Alistair's face lit up as he beamed at her, and now Elisif was going weak at the knees too. Another Dragonborn, they'd found another Dragonborn, and he was cute! Kindhearted, funny, adorable… and another Dragonborn. Someone like her. Like her, and crucially, not like Miraak. Alistair was a good man, not ambitious, not power-hungry. He was a bit scared and a bit terrified with no idea what it all meant, rather like Elisif had been when she'd first taken a dragon's soul, except Elisif had had a good idea what it all meant, which had made her more not less terrified if she was honest.

Fortunately, Alistair wouldn't have to deal with dragons coming back to end the world. But the world was falling apart. And who knew, perhaps dragonslaying would be part of it. Someone else at her side would be invaluable. Someone else with the Thu'um would be indescribable. She just hoped it didn't change him too much.

As they left the castle, a lone figure stepped forward. Skywatcher, having listened in while his kin were defeated.

“There lies the brat,” he noted, with very little surprise or emotion in his voice. “Our chief would duel me for the loss if he cared enough.”

“Does his father not like him?” Elisif asked, surprised.

“He's the youngest of four, his mother's dead, and the marriage was as short as it was unhappy, judge for yourself,” Skywatcher snorted. “As it is, he weren't sent out here to fight you, he were here to deal with Tevinters straying into our lands. He picks a fight he can't win, it's not our problem.”

Harsh. But the Avvar were apparently notoriously unsentimental, so maybe with three children left to him, the chieftain might be willing to let this one go. All the same, Elisif made a mental note to let Josie know there might be a need to pay blood-price on this one. Maybe not now, but weeks or months down the line.

“What will you do now?” Elisif asked. “Are you going back to your tribe?”

“Gonna have to,” Skywatcher confirmed. “Someone's got to tell the folk there's a Dovahkiin here. Two Dovahkiins if I heard rightly – you and your man here?”

Elisif promptly let go of Alistair's hand and laughed nervously. 

“We both Shouted but he's not… I mean, we're not… look, I'm Dragonborn, yes, but he's still in training. And we're not lovers or anything. I'm married. To someone else.”

She avoided looking at Alistair as she said this, because she had a feeling he'd look terribly unhappy about that fact.

“Aye, is that a fact?” Skywatcher asked, glancing at Alistair. “Well, for now, that may be, but nothing lasts forever, Elisif Kwene. Not a queendom, and not a marriage either. Everything changes. And a Dragonborn in training will become a master eventually. Careful, or he'll challenge you too.”

“Good god no,” Alistair said, shuddering. “After what happened to him? No thanks.”

“Didn't you shout him off me?” Elisif said, teasing, although secretly she was pleased to hear him sound so certain he was never challenging her.

“Yes, I did, but that doesn't mean I'll be Shouting you down,” said Alistair firmly. “He was trying to hurt you so I had to stop him, but you're… I can't hurt you! You're nice! You're…” Alistair stopped, going a bit pink and looking away, seeming a bit embarrassed about this entire line of conversation. 

“I'm here to protect you, not fight you!” Alistair finished. “Maker, I've seen what happens to things that fight you.”

“And he's not known me very long,” Elisif added, smiling at Skywatcher. “This is our first real fight together.”

“Aye, and I can see there'll be many more,” Skywatcher said knowingly, grinning at them both in a way that clearly said he could imagine them doing other things together too. Which was just making them all feel uncomfortable.

“We should go see how the soldiers are doing,” Elisif said, taking Alistair's arm. “Will you tell your chief we're sorry about his son, but he did start it? And if you wanted to tell the other Avvar that the Herald of Andraste's a Dragonborn who was really sent by the Lady, but we're just letting the lowlanders assume it was Andraste, I'd appreciate that.”

“Do I want to?” Skywatcher laughed. “Don't see I have a choice, Dovahkiin. The Hoch-Kwene from across the seas with the Jagte Krone itself on her head turns up and destroys some fool who thought to challenge her with the power of the Thu'um, and she's got another Dragonborn helping her? THAT story needs telling everywhere. I don't know how my kin will react, but they'll want to know.”

“And what will you be advising them?” Elisif asked, frowning. “Will you be telling them we mean no harm or advising them to declare war on us.”

A pause and then Skywatcher made a fist and thumped his chest.

“If Kyne sent you, it's not my place to argue, Dovahkiin. I'll tell them you're not here for us. You might even get a few of us joining your cause. Maybe I'll be one of them.”

“I'd like that,” Elisif said, and they parted with a handclasp before Skywatcher took his leave.

Alone finally with Alistair, who had turned back to her, looking frankly terrified.

“So… Dragonborn,” he began nervously. “Er… what does that mean, exactly? I don't really know what I'm meant to be doing.”

“Don't worry,” Elisif told him, feeling safe enough to take his hand now that there wasn't anyone else watching. “I didn't know what I was doing either, and I had a country in civil war and a dragon trying to end the world to deal with.”

“Whereas this is much better, we've only got to deal with the Veil falling apart, the Templars hating us, Tevinter supremacists lurking in the shadows, and someone out there having murdered the Divine,” Alistair said cheerfully. “Child's play really, don't see how we can lose.”

“Don't be like that, you fought in a Blight!” Elisif told him as they made their way back to the gatehouse. “It must have been worse back then. From what I hear it was just you and Lyra and Leliana and a few others hiking around Ferelden for months. We've got an entire Inquisition. And two Dragonborns, it turns out.”

“Maker help me,” Alistair said, shaking his head. “And Mara. And those other gods of yours, there's eight, aren't there? And...” He reached for his amulet, a little source of security… and promptly went pale.

“Oh balls,” he whispered, pulling it out – or what was left of it. Part of it was still attached to a chain, but only part. Clearly it hadn't survived the fight.

“I got hit in the chest by an arrow but I didn't think it had got through my armour,” Alistair admitted. “I hadn't realised Fiona's amulet had taken the blow. Er. Is she going to kill me, do you think?”

Hardly, in fact she'd probably be happy her amulet had saved her son. But it did leave them both with a more pressing problem.

“Never mind Fiona, I'll deal with her,” Elisif said, turning him to face her. “How's the Calling?”

Alistair stared back at her, eyes wide and frightened and he shook his head.

“There. It's nagging at my mind again. I'll be all right for now, I think. But we're three weeks away from Haven. How in the Void do I cope?” Alistair whispered, looking more pale than she'd ever seen him.

Elisif stepped forward and put her arms round him, soothing him like she'd soothe Maia, and he seemed to respond to that, cuddling her back and resting his cheek against hers.

“It's going to be all right,” Elisif whispered. “I'll look after you.”

“Thanks,” Alistair whispered, clinging on to her and seeming unwilling to let her go. “I can't describe it, but it's better when you're close by. Less insistent. Damn, I wish I could cuddle you the whole way home.”

“I wish you could too, but people will talk,” Elisif whispered in his ear, her heart thudding and loins blazing and gods damn it, she just wanted to get him back to camp, into her tent and onto his back so she could ride him until he was sated, damn it. And he wanted to as well, she could sense it.

But she was a married woman, and she needed to talk to Madanach about all this, and he wasn't here either, even if he would be more likely to want to sit up all night talking about the ramifications and what-have-you and possibly have to be reminded his wife was there and had needs. Needs which were not going to get satisfied tonight clearly, not by anything other than her own right hand anyway. Damn it.

“Excuse me!” Dorian. Interrupting. Again. But it had the desired effect because Alistair promptly let her go, slinking back and looking horribly guilty, which Dorian would see through immediately. And clearly had, judging by the look on his face.

“Oh good god, not her as well,” Dorian sighed, tutting at Alistair. “And Herald, honestly, do stop flirting with other men. Must I remind you how badly adultery turned out for the first great religious leader?”

“I'm not-!” Elisif gave up, already aware that Dorian could be just impossible sometimes. “Look, I'm not doing anything Madanach would disapprove of. And Alistair's amulet has broken. The Calling's come back and he needed a cuddle.”

“Well give him to me then, I don't have a jealous husband to come after us,” Dorian said, holding out his hands. “Come on, Alistair. I don't bite. Unless you ask me nicely.”

“Go on,” Elisif told Alistair, who seemed a bit reluctant but did eventually go to Dorian and let the other man put his arms round him. 

“There, there, you old bugger,” Dorian soothed as he led Alistair away. “It's going to be all right. Come on, let's get going. Sooner we get out of this mire, the better.”

Elisif agreed, although for her own reasons. She needed Madanach back in her arms, needed to tell him everything, because if this kept up, it was only a matter of time before she ended up throwing propriety to the winds and claiming the Southern Dragonborn for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May be some time before the full ramifications of the Avvar and their Alamarri forebears actually being dissident Nords who'd left Tamriel on an expedition into the unknown become clear. But I really wanted to play with the idea of there having been contact before, not to mention Maferath and Andraste having Tamrielic ancestry and Andraste maybe even having the Thu'um. It may also have interesting ramifications for how Andrastrianism gets presented to Tamriel, because it would be a lot less invasive if it was presented as the story of a long-lost Tamrielic Dragonborn fighting for freedom, and Andraste ends up as a saint in the Tamrielic faith. The Chantry will be appalled, but they'll have to live with it. ;)


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liriel is leading an expedition to the Forbidden Oasis for magical research purposes... but the heat is getting to everyone, and passions are running high. Particularly a certain jester who's not had an outlet for his urges in far too long...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: child abuse mention, murder, cannibalism, Cicero and Eola being bad people.
> 
> Cicero got a bit carried away in this one and crept off to do some stabbing. Not of anyone in the Inquisition, but a stabbing of an innocent person regardless. You didn't think he was a reformed character, did you?
> 
> This chapter moves the action to the Forbidden Oasis, where the support cast are out doing some magical experimentation. A bit of light relief before In Your Heart Shall Burn starts up. (Apart from the aforementioned stabbing - if you want to avoid it, it's at the end, just stop reading when Eola gets back to the camp.)

Orlais had a reputation for being a verdant land of lush fields and pretty woodlands and valleys overflowing with nature's abundance, but it was easy to forget that the entire western end of the country was nothing but orange, sandy, featureless desert as far as the eye could see, with only sandstone rock formations to break up the monotony.

Liriel was finding this fact out the hard way, and her companions were not helping.

“Stupid desert. Stupid sun. Stupid bloody sand that keeps getting in places. Stupid bloody temple locked with stupid bloody magic, and us having to be out here in the first place because your _stupid bloody magic_ can't be tested anywhere near anywhere _normal._ ”

Sera kicked at a nearby pebble, sending sand flying as it hit the ground, and Liriel once again reminded herself Sera's juvenile attitudes were not an excuse for murder. 

“You didn't have to come,” Liriel said tersely. “You could have stayed in Haven.” _We wish you had, we really do._

“Yeah, and let Knifey have all the fun of finding out what all those shards actually did, no chance,” Sera said, fondling the one she was carrying. Despite claiming to find them creepy, she did seem a bit entranced by the glow. Must be a thief's natural affinity for shiny things. “Where is he anyway? I was going to explore the oasis with him, but has he even left his tent?”

All eyes turned to Eola, looking impassive as she seemed to glide over the sand, frost cloak swirling around her, and despite Sera and Iron Bull both professing discomfort with magic, they were both standing just near enough not to get frostbite off it while still benefiting from the cold.

“He was overheating,” Eola explained. “It's his father's Nordic constitution. Also he sunburns very easily. He didn't want to damage his delicate sensitive skin, so I left him in the tent with some iced tea and a frost rune. He'll come out later, I'm sure.”

Which was not what Sera wanted to hear, not at all, because something about that struck her as decidedly unfair.

“Wait,” she interjected. “You mean we're all out here sweating like pigs under the hot, baking, fuck-off ball of fire in the sky, while bloody Shiv-Dark's sat on his arse on a frickin' frost rune and sipping iced bloody tea?? How come he gets to be all Spoiled Little Princess when the rest of us are fucking baking??”

“I rather think that's a perk of being involved with a frost mage,” Solas said calmly, seeming unbothered by the heat despite having no hair, no headgear and the sunlight gleaming off his skull to such an extent it made it hard to look at him. “Should we start looking for one for you, Sera?”

Sera's visceral shudder made them all laugh, and that was before Eola started looking her over and nodding once, before cheerfully telling Sera she'd share a bedroll with her if she wanted. Sera's wide-eyed expression in response to that was a sight to behold.

“No,” Sera gasped. “I mean, seriously, no, and is Knifey going to be watching?? I'm not sleeping with a married woman, especially not one who's married to _him._ ”

Eola seemed to take the rejection in her stride. 

“Suit yourself,” Eola shrugged. “I can always park Cicero in Bull's tent if you change your mind.”

“ _No_ chance,” Sera shuddered, and Bull seemed a bit affronted too.

“Hey, Cicero's not a toy, he's a person, you can't just park him in someone else's tent when you don't need him,” Bull protested.

“Oh, did you not want him there?” Eola said innocently, notably avoiding Bull's key point completely. “He'll be very hurt, he thought you liked him.”

“I do, and that's not the point, the point is you need to negotiate these things, not just assume you can boot your husband out the tent whenever a cute girl catches your eye and it'll be fine because you can palm him off on to me,” Bull snapped, and then he promptly yelped and leapt back from the frost cloak because it had just got that bit colder very suddenly.

“And you know he and I haven't agreed that because??” Eola shot back, and Liriel found herself developing a headache.

“All right, that's _enough!_ ” Liriel cried, desperate to get on with this before the day got too hot to function in. “This area will do just fine as a testing ground. Now let's get to work, where are the notes...”

And so the testing began, with Bull and Sera looking on with varying degrees of boredom, only interrupted by Vivienne's late arrival, whereupon Sera snickered and cheekily asked how Vivienne's knickers were doing.

Vivienne, barely breaking a sweat in the heat, shot Sera a look of distaste that could have sent a nug fleeing for its life all on its own.

“I found the dung beetles you so thoughtfully left in there, my dear,” Vivienne sighed. “Worry not, I sent them all on their merry way, and they'll be finding their way back to you, ooh, any moment now, I would have thought. Do be careful when you check your pack, won't you.”  
Sera laughed nervously, grimaced and then shuddered.

“Friggin' evil, she is,” she muttered, retreating to watch as Vivienne swept by Iron Bull.

“Hey Viv,” Bull called as she passed him by. “How's things?”

Eola looked up from where she and Liriel were busy tweaking the Immolate glyph to withstand more magicka.

“Oh, this is going to end so badly,” Eola murmured. Solas sat back, no fan of either Vivienne or Bull… so likely to enjoy things no matter who won. While Liriel, who did have a nug in this race, sat up in alarm and promptly started casting a barrier spell.

“I am the First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Court Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais!” Vivienne snapped at him. “And you will address me as Enchanter Vivienne or Madame de Fer! NOT Viv!”

No one had ever seen a man built like Iron Bull go quite that colour or look quite that nervous, and Liriel was lowering her hands, amazed.

“Yes, ma'am, sorry ma'am,” he managed to get out, and Vivienne's hand left her staff as she actually smiled.

“Ma'am! I like that! Yes, that will be fine, thank you darling. Now, where are the rest of you – ah yes. Liriel.”

Liriel had watched that whole scene with a growing sense of horror at how easily Bull had caved, and a hollow feeling in her heart that Vivienne had just stolen something precious away, but she couldn't for the life of her have said what it was. But she was a professional with a job to do, after all.

“Vivienne,” Liriel said, stamping down on her emotions. “I've managed to merge Tamrielic warding spells with the barrier glyph you use. I think we're about ready to try the same with Fire Storm and the Immolate glyph. Only it's going to take a fair bit of magicka. Can you position the glyph and I'll see about merging it with the spell?”

“Of course, darling!” Vivienne said, smile on her face that Liriel saw right through, but there was nothing she could do about it. And so Liriel tried to concentrate on summoning Fire Storm and honing it on the glyph, because she didn't have the magicka for both, but her focus was slipping, because every time she tried to focus on the spell, she kept hearing Bull calling Vivienne 'ma'am'.

“Liriel,” she heard Solas saying, concerned. “Liriel? You're losing your focus, your aura's sparking, Liriel, hold it, _hold it!_ ”

Liriel's concentration shattered and the glyph exploded, a wall of fire billowing out in all directions, but frankly the wave rolling towards them was probably everyone's biggest concern. Sera shrieked, Bull pushed her behind a rock, Solas's wall of ice slowed but did not stop it, Vivienne's barrier only covered so much… and then Eola was there, strange ward shimmering into life around her and the staff she'd brought from Tamriel in her hands, a glowing blue-green one that lashed out and started absorbing the fire. It kept absorbing the fire. It didn't stop until the fire had burnt itself out and everyone sat up, coughing in the smoke… and staring at the fused glass lake that was where the fire had been.

“Well, it worked?” Liriel said apologetically as everyone emerged. “I'm really sorry everyone, I don't normally lose control of magic like that.”

Smirk and snicker from Eola and Sera both, and then Solas was there with an arm around her.

“Are you all right?” he gasped, covered in sand but otherwise fine and Liriel nodded.

“Yes,” Liriel said, thoughts of Bull disappearing as she shielded her eyes from the sun glaring off the glass. “But never mind that, it worked! We just need to get it under control.”

“For which you'll need rather more mana than one person can muster,” Vivienne said, dusting sand off her robe as she stepped forward. “Liriel, darling, unless you can find a way to give one mage the power of several, this spell is as likely to immolate your own troops as those of the enemy. There's a reason we in the Circle always restricted the power of our combat spells.”

Liriel closed her eyes and focused on her breathing before she immolated Vivienne. Fortunately there was a hand on her arm and then Eola was there, looking thoughtful.

“There is a way… only you're not going to like it. It's a little… unorthodox. Might lead to awkward questions from the Chantry. And the Inquisition's Templars. And Cassandra.”

By now Eola was getting some hardened stares from all round and it was Vivienne who broke the silence.

“It's blood magic, isn't it, darling.”

Silence as Eola hesitated and then she responded with what wasn't exactly a denial.

“Define blood magic?”

Vivienne threw up her hand and turned away.

“I knew it,” Vivienne sighed. “If your father isn't a maleficar, I could tell you probably were. Between the wolfskin armour and the mace, I swear you've dabbled in _something._ ”

“It's not exactly blood magic!” Eola protested. “I read the Chantry definitions, it turns out blood magic is magic drawing on blood as a fuel source rather than magicka – mana – whatever. Well this still uses mana to power the spell! It just relies on blood as a channel. Several mages cut their flesh, press the cuts together, there you go, one massive magicka pool, and with all that at your disposal, controlling powerful spells becomes easy. We should try it.”

“We will be doing no such thing!” Vivienne snapped, clicking her fingers at the Loyalist mages. “Maybe it isn't technically outlawed but I am having no part of it! Loyalists, with me. We are returning to camp.”

Vivienne's people peeled off after her, leaving Liriel and Eola and Solas with various free mages standing around and awaiting a decision. Liriel wasn't sure why they were all looking at her. Especially the elves. The returning MageGuard elves had started telling their kin about Alinor and Auriel and the Eight and the country run by High Elves where not only was magic legal, but the gods were routinely depicted with elven features… including the creator who'd turned his back on his creation, Great Auriel himself.

Liriel was in no way a priestess of Auriel, but she'd shared what she knew and remembered, both from growing up in Alinor and studying at the Great Chantry of Auri-El in the Forgotten Vale. And now all the elven mages seemed to be revering her somewhat, in fact some of those elves were former members of the Loyalist camp.

“Solas, opinions?” Liriel sighed. Solas just shrugged.

“Magic is magic. If you are able to find volunteers, and if these volunteers would come to no long-term harm as a result, I don't see the harm in it.”

“If it helps, I once performed the rite in question on my own father when he needed more magicka for a powerful spell,” Eola added. “He came to no serious harm – it was the freezing temperatures that had him laid up for a week afterwards. This isn't experimental magic, healthy adults don't come to any harm. Burns through your magicka in seconds and you want healers on standby but it's a tried and tested procedure.”

“All right then,” Liriel said, thinking it had to be worth a try at least. “We'll give it a go. Not now. We need to plan it out first, we all need to rest, and it's starting to warm up quite uncomfortably. Any of you interested in participating, see me tonight and we'll make plans. Dismissed.”

Everyone dispersed and headed back to camp, which was on the other side of the dunes from the new Glass Lake or there might have been some more things catching fire. As it was, initial tests did look promising at least. All in all, at least they'd achieved something. Liriel was feeling quite pleased with her progress… until Sera dropped back and start smirking at her.

“You like him,” Sera announced, smug grin on her face, and Liriel simultaneously knew exactly what Sera was talking about while being convinced the elf had no idea what she was saying.

“What are you talking about,” Liriel said irritably. She'd already grown rather tired of Sera's constant pointed comments on her being too 'elfy', whatever that meant – she was an elf and saw no reason to apologise for that fact, and if Sera had a problem with that, it was Sera's problem and not Liriel's. 

“Iron Bull,” Sera purred. “You like him. You _like_ like him! Liriel and Iron Bull sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-”

“Shh!” Liriel hissed, blush staining her cheeks, not that she had anything to be embarrassed about. Nor did she have thoughts like _that_ about Iron Bull. She wasn't that sort of elf!

“I don't want to kiss Iron Bull,” Liriel said firmly. “Or do anything else – Sera, will you get your mind out of the gutter!”

Sera just kept right on smirking. 

“Says you,” she grinned. “So you haven't realised it yet. So what. You will. That's why your magic went all funny. You saw him being all humble-like with Vivienne and you got jealous. You don't like him cosying up to her. You'd rather he was cosying up to _you._ ”

“Sera, I-” Liriel gave up arguing with her but damned if she was admitting something that wasn't even true. “Look, I may not like the idea of Vivienne bossing him around, but that doesn't mean I want to – to do things like that to him!” 

Liriel could feel herself blushing, but it wasn't like that. She'd never had any sexual fantasies about Iron Bull. She wasn't interested. She was just fond of him, that was all. Yes, he was strong and intelligent and a good listener and always interesting to talk to, but that didn't mean she wanted him to… well, she didn't really want to think about it. But she liked him, saw him as a friend, and seeing him abasing himself like that before Vivienne just seemed so _wrong_.

And if the magical control techniques she'd been taught all her life, that virtually all young Altmer were taught once they could walk and talk, tended to get a little fragile in the presence of strong emotions, that was… well, it couldn't entirely be helped. Not that Liriel felt any strong emotions about Iron Bull. Of course not. Sera had no idea what she was talking about.

Sera was still grinning. 

“Course not, Liri. You just keep telling yourself that. I'll just make sure to be safely out of the way next time you have to watch Vivienne and Iron Bull together. Don't want any accidents with the great big super-powered burny stuff, do we?”

Liriel could wring Sera's neck sometimes. But that might mean dung beetles in her pack next. Really, this whole endeavour was starting to get on her nerves.

Focus, she told herself. Focus on the magic. Never mind Iron Bull. He could look after himself. All the same, Vivienne was proving to be a very disruptive influence. Hmm. Maybe Sera could help with that after all.

“Sera,” Liriel said, considering her options. “Next time you want to plant creatures in Vivienne's gear, let me know. Only it seems to me that she's got all sorts of arcane means for neutralising any creature she sees. Perhaps we need to make sure she… doesn't see them.”

“Doesn't see… but how does that work if she can't see…” The copper dropped and Sera's face lit up. “Ohhh. OHHHH. She can't see them but she can _hear_ them! Skittering about! Scuttling around while she's trying to sleep! Creeping on her bedding, but she can't _see_ them! That's _evil!_ Good idea though.” Sera nodded, approving. “All right, Liriel. Maybe you're a bit elfy, but at least you're not all mooning over a lost past all the time. At least you're _normal_. Sort of. Anyway. You leave it with me. I'll round up a few new friends and then you can help me sneak 'em in. Deal?”

“Deal. If you stop talking about me and Iron Bull?” Liriel said. Sera grinned and nodded.

“All right. I wouldn't want to be responsible for your elfy fireballs getting out of hand, after all,” Sera grinned, before heading back to the camp. Well, Liriel had won that round at least. She just had a feeling she'd not heard the last of this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero was not in the tent. Worse, Cicero wasn't even in the camp. The iced tea had been drunk, his armour was still here, but his motley was not and the sun salve level was definitely down from this morning. He'd taken Auriel's Bow and his knives too. _Someone_ had gone exploring.

“Heatstroke, my arse,” Eola muttered, cancelling the now unnecessary ice rune and scanning the oasis, trying to get a feel for where he'd gone. Her senses were telling her he wasn't in the main oasis, but on the outskirts, at the far end.

Stopping only for some water and to check her supplies, Eola said her goodbyes and went out to track him down.

Her senses led her to a cave, and with a few dead hyenas and half a dozen spiders lying around outside, all seeming to have died from the sunburst effect of Auriel's Bow, she guessed she'd find him in here. As she got closer, the familiar smell of cooked flesh drifted out towards her and Eola realised with delight that Cicero hadn't just gone exploring. He'd gone _hunting._

“Hello beloved!” Cicero chirped, from where he was sitting round a small fire, toasting bits carved off the dead woman slumped in the corner. Not someone she recognised from the camp. Thankfully.

“Sweetie, you did this for me?” Eola breathed, feeling simultaneously touched and a bit guilty. “That's so sweet of you!”

“I did, I did!” Cicero squealed. “Only Cicero got bored and started feeling better and went exploring, you see. He stayed mostly in the shadows – he's very good at that. And then he found this wandering around. No one knows she is out here, and she is separated from her husband. She was after the ring she'd stashed here in a fit of pique.” Cicero branded a shiny jewelled Orlesian ring at her, and Eola had a feeling Cicero's magpie instincts had got the better of him. That and he'd not stabbed anyone in a while. Not since Redcliffe. The poor man must have been very frustrated.

Eola had not fed properly in a while either. He really did understand her needs all too well, and suddenly there it was again. That strange unfamiliar twinge. Eola had a funny feeling it might actually be guilt. She really wasn't used to it.

“So Cicero stabbed her and brought her back here after he'd cleared the cave out, and that was easy enough, just lure the spiders outside and shoot the sun with Auriel's Bow. And now Cicero is making a nice romantic meal for us both! Eat up, eat up, my sweetling! You do not want your share to get cold.”

He was holding a bowl of meat swimming in its own blood out to her, and Eola seized it gratefully, feeling her blood magic powers returning. Sure, she could use her own blood to power blood magic, but it was always far better to feed on someone else's and then she'd have the power available for Namira's gifts whenever she liked. Sadly, the Inquisition usually had far too many witnesses around. So she'd have to take her chances where she found them.

She really was lucky to have Cicero around to help, and the guilt was coming back again. This was all Bull's fault. Slowly, she lowered the bowl after she'd finished feeding.

“Cicero,” she said, frowning. “Am I a bad person?”

Cicero paused hesitantly, before glancing first at the remains, then at her empty bowl, then back to her, looking genuinely confused.

“Um. Beloved? Cicero is not sure how to answer that one, but we murder random strangers and eat them. Cicero is fairly sure we're not good people.”

All right, perhaps that wasn't the question to ask.

“Yes, but am I good to you?” Eola sighed. “Are you happy? With me?”

Cicero was now looking genuinely worried and his voice, when he next spoke was tremulous and quiet and barely above a whisper.

“Eola?” he said, lip trembling. “Why wouldn't I be happy? You are nice to me! Kind to me! You put an ice rune down for me and made me iced tea.”

Which really was a tiny thing, and yet he seemed so pleased about it, which made Eola wonder if perhaps he even knew what a good wife was supposed to look like.

“Bull seems to think I treat you like an object,” Eola said, and Cicero's confusion deepened, albeit with a glare at the mention of Bull's name. “I was flirting with Sera, and told her I could park you in Bull's tent if she wanted you out of the way, and he told me off. I mean, Sera's not interested, which I knew damn well, so it's not like it would have happened, but he told me off for not negotiating with you first and that you were a person, not some pet or toy I can palm off on him… what? It's not funny!”

Cicero was giggling, looking flushed and pleased.

“Oh, it is, it is! Bull seriously thinks Cicero would _object_ to being parcelled up and left in his tent as a gift! Hee! Giftwrap me with a little pink ribbon and a rose between my teeth, and he can find out how little I mind it.”

“No!” Eola managed to get out as she tried not to laugh, failed completely and swatted at him playfully. “I'm not tying any ribbons around your cock! Honestly Cicero!”

Cicero giggled some more before finally calming down, smile turning into a frown.

“Bull perhaps need to keep his opinions to himself sometimes. Cicero is perfectly happy with pretty Eola and his spouse-brother. Eola knows what Cicero will and will not object to by this point. Cicero would tell Eola if he objected to something. Negotiations and discussions on many things have _already been had._ Cicero is not being mistreated or abused. Beloved, you do not need to worry. You are not turning into your mother.”

Eola glanced at what had once been a living, breathing woman, and wondered why she never felt emotions like normal people did. Why the guilt and shame and repulsion never manifested. Why she could do all this and not feel a thing. And yet she looked at Cicero, and indeed Athis, and felt… tenderness. Kindness. The urge to do nice things for them and enjoying watching them smile and enjoying their company and feeling sad sometimes when Cicero was having a needy and vulnerable moment and needed comforting.

Eola was aware that other people experienced far deeper feelings than this, and maybe this wasn't exactly healthy, but she wasn't capable of anything else! She was a monster, and sometimes she wondered if Athis and Cicero deserved better. Namira knew her kids did, although the little things didn't seem to know that, because they kept cuddling her and showing her things they'd made and giving her little gifts and telling her she was the best mama ever. Eola knew she was better at it than Mireen had been, but really that said absolutely nothing. 

“Do you think I'm a good mother?” Eola asked, wondering. “Or even an OK one? I mean, they're cute and all, but they get on my nerves sometimes, and they don't seem to ever stop, and sometimes, a lot of the time, I just want some peace. And… and I'm OK with having left them behind, I mean, I worry sometimes, but I'm enjoying not having to do childcare any more and… sweetie, am I actually any good at it?”

Cicero tilted his head, pondering, and then he smiled.

“Beloved, there is not a parent born who does not occasionally wish their child was elsewhere, and our children have more energy than most. You still love them! You still take care of them. And they are fond of you! Very fond of you! They are always pleased to see you after you have been away for any length of time, and they always ask when you're coming back. Very frequently and very often, sometimes several times a day because neither of them can really tell the time yet and half an hour is as a whole day to them – or rather, for them there is only Now, and if Mama is not there Now, maybe if they wait for a different Now, the answer will be different. Never mind the second Now is barely fifteen minutes after the last one.” Cicero sighed, shook himself off and smiled brightly, a bit too brightly, and Eola did feel a bit of relief that he had to deal with that as well.

“They do the same thing when you're away, it's adorable, if completely irritating, and sometimes I'm beginning to see why Ma always seemed so cranky,” Eola admitted. “Seriously, Cicero, how the hell do you stay so patient with them?”

“Cicero merely remembers how his Mama was with him,” Cicero said, shrugging. “Also they are tiny and fragile and their little heads are full of fluff, they cannot help that.” His face changed, expression becoming one of understanding… and pity. “Sweetling, I know your mama taught you very little of how good parents are supposed to behave, but that was not your fault either, and you are doing very well considering. You have not hit them at all, and you seemed positively relieved to find out that leaving them alone in the forest to find their way home on their ninth birthday was not actually required.”

Eola had not forgotten the concerned alarm on Athis's face when she'd voiced her concerns that they'd not be big or strong enough to manage, even together, and Cicero's horrified shriek that you could not leave nine year olds to fend for themselves in the wilds, that was not right, had been a grim reminder that her own childhood had been uncaring and loveless, just as it had been a relief she didn't have to do that to her own kids. It was also a disconcerting reminder that Cicero perhaps was the best parent out of the three of them, and he was a hardened assassin. 

“I know, but you're always so good with them,” Eola sighed. “You can just talk them into or out of anything. In fact, sometimes you are downright manipulative.”

“I never actually lie to them,” Cicero said, straightening up and trying to look innocent. “Only there are certain things it is better they do not know, and there are certain connections Cicero would prefer them to make over others.”

“In other words, you're a manipulative little shit who will shamelessly tug on their heartstrings if it means they behave,” Eola noted, cheering up as she recalled all the times Cicero had blatantly guilt-tripped the kids or just plain confused them so much they ended up doing what they were told anyway.

Cicero spread his hands, guileless look on his face.

“Would you prefer it if Cicero beat them?” Cicero asked, blinking, and Eola's instincts took over, and while she might be an empathy-free cannibal, something in her fiercely objected to her little ones hurt and crying.

“No!” Eola cried, and too late she saw the smug grin on his face as Cicero's point was proven.

“See, you are better than you give yourself credit for, my love,” Cicero purred, and Eola glared at him even as he sat back, adjusting himself so he was reclining on his elbow instead.

Eola shook her head, deciding that while beating the children was bad, being merciless to Cicero from time to time was not only fine, it was practically inevitable.

“Oh, I'm not that nice,” Eola murmured, crawling over and pushing Cicero to the floor of the cave. “Now. Stop talking and put your mouth to other uses. I've got plans for you.”

Cicero squealed and submitted, and soon, all was back to normal in Cicero and Eola's life… not normal by anyone else's standards, but they were both perfectly content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter follows on from the Fallow Mire segment, in which the advance party returns to Haven, the news of Avvar having Nordic antecedents breaks, and a certain someone is having All The Feelings, and no idea what to do with them, and a certain someone else is being a conniving bastard but one with a heart.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madanach's settled into a routine, taking care of Maia, even if the presence of spirits is making things harder than it really needed to be. However, all that changes when an unexpected guest brings welcome news... and Madanach's hospitality is stirring up unexpected feelings in Alistair, who is spectacularly ill-equipped to cope, and it seems the only way to avert disaster is to send him into the arms of the one person who cannot turn him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra chapter because last one was short, and many of you would have skipped the last half so here it is early. Back in Haven, and the chapter's rather more domestic, because it's nearly all Madanach chilling out at home with Maia, which might not sound interesting... until they get company for dinner in the form of a back early from the Mire Alistair. There was almost pr0n in this one. But someone got the jitters and refused to co-operate, so we've got this instead.
> 
> Warning for mentions of m/m sexual activity. Alas, the actual activity didn't materialise. Sigh.

Late afternoon in Haven, and Madanach was putting the finishing touches to the dream catcher. Well, perhaps spirit catcher would be a better word, but it was a web of twine, lyrium, feathers, stones, gemstones, dried elfroot, and whatever else Madanach could lay hands on. In true Reach-magic style, it and the various other charms and warding artefacts he'd assembled were all a bit cobbled together from the ingredients at hand, but some of the most powerful artefacts in the Reach were slung together by a skilled witch at the last minute.

Madanach had never been anything but skilled in these matters. It'd work. It'd have to. The dreams were getting on his tits by this point, and the constant tweaking by fascinated spirits at his aura was likewise driving him up the wall. Worse, Maia had been having dreams too, and more than once he'd found her staring into space, having thought she'd seen a pixie or a sprite or something. 

On talking to Fiona, he'd found out this was an endemic problem for mages over here, in that they attracted spirits and demons, and due to the shoddy Veil over here, spirit possession was all too real a danger. Most spirits were harmless, or not strong enough to harm anyone anyway, but all the same, it was a problem. The resulting pairing of mage and demon, or abomination as the Chantry referred to them, was a horror that could lay waste for miles around.

Madanach had laughed nervously and not said a word about Hagravens, in fact he made a mental note to ensure Keirine never came here. Not just for Keirine's own safety, but if the Chantry ever found out about the Matriarchs of the Reach, they'd likely declare an Exalted March on the spot. But it hadn't solved the immediate problem of making sure Maia was all right. The translation spirits Keirine had invoked into them would likely stop anything else getting in without their consent or knowledge, but Maia had no such protection. Haven had been relatively spirit-free after the Breach scared them off, but they were starting to creep back, and they seemed to find Maia _fascinating._

Hence the warding charms on the cabin. Maia was sensible enough to handle a negotiation when awake, or at least aware enough (because he'd taught her) to agree to nothing and just say she would need to talk to her mother and father first, and if the spirit had a problem with that, it was probably really a demon. But her dreams were another matter. If all these things helped keep his baby that bit safer, then it was worth the effort. Despite the sidelong looks from everyone else. 

“All right, Maia, these should help with the dreams,” Madanach said as he fastened the last of the charms over the door. “No more demonic influences in the night. These'll keep out everything except ancestral guardian spirits.”

Maia was sitting on her bed with Frogella in her arms, looking a bit pensive. 

“But they're not all bad,” Maia whispered. “Some of them are my friends! They're nice! They keep the bad ones away.”

Words that struck a chill in Madanach's heart, because Maia having connections with people – spirits – he couldn't interact with and had no control over worried him. She was five years old, vulnerable, just a little girl. Madanach really didn't like the idea of spirits taking an interest, even if they were protecting her from others.

“That doesn't mean they're good themselves,” Madanach pointed out to her, stepping down from the stepladder and coming to sit down next to her. “Who are these spirits anyway?”

“They're nice,” Maia whispered. “I mean, they're grown-ups, mostly, but they're nice! Sigrun's pretty like Mama and has blonde hair which she braids like Mama does, and she's got black and red armour like Cicero's and some very sharp knives which she won't let me touch. And Varnyr's her husband and he's got red hair down to his chin and braids and a beard like Argis's and the same armour Sigrun has, and a bow and arrows and knives, and a lute! He can play and sing lots of songs! He says he went to the Bards' College when he was a young man! Bards are nice, right?”

“Bards are paid to be nice and charming and entertain people, Maia, that doesn't mean they're really like that when they're not being paid,” Madanach sighed, although something was nagging at him. A bard called Varnyr, he'd heard that name. He just didn't know where. But the black and read armour like Cicero's, that was a worry. Why were the spirits of two Dark Brotherhood assassins so interested in his daughter?

“Did they say why they're looking after you in the Fade?” he asked. “They wouldn't do that for no reason.”

Maia shrugged, looking a bit confused. “They said they were ansis – siss – sisteral spirits. And that they were worried I might get in trouble in the Fade and came to look after me. They wanted me to call them Granma and Granda but I said they weren't old enough and Sigrun was far too pretty, and that made them laugh, so they said I could use their names instead. They don't use mine though. They won't even let me say it. They just call me sweetie and little one and sometimes Dragon-Rider.”

Names had power and knowing a name, using it, gave you power over something, and these two seemed to know that. They'd given their own names but not used Maia's. Interesting. Although not as interesting as hearing they'd asked Maia to refer to them as her grandparents, and it was with dawning horror that Madanach recalled who Varnyr the bard had been. Varnyr Silvertongue, famous bard from decades ago, who'd trained in Solitude, plied his trade over in High Rock, married and been widowed with a young daughter, and eventually come back to his home city of Solitude to die, bringing his teenage daughter with him… and that daughter had gone on to marry the High King's son, get widowed in turn, ended up as Jarl and gone on to change the world. 

Elisif's parents, coming to protect their granddaughter, which was not unwelcome… but also couldn't help but unnerve him, and them being Dark Brotherhood was news to him. Probably news to Elisif too.

“Do they ever mention your mother?” Madanach asked, hoping to get some confirmation of his fears. “And me?”

“Oh yes!” Maia said, brightening up. “I told them stories, and they seemed really happy although Sigrun cried a bit and Varnyr might have too although he said he had something in his eye. Daddy, can spirits get things in their eyes?”

“I'm not sure, love,” Madanach said, his fears confirmed. “Maybe spirits can get Fade dust in their eyes. But your mama's story is impressive. I'm not surprised they're proud. What about me? Did they mention me at all?”

Maia hesitated a bit this time before slowly nodding.

“They weren't sure about you. I don't think Varnyr likes you very much,” Maia admitted. “But I told them you were the best daddy ever and were nice to me and looked after me and told me stories about the Reach and that you'd never let Templars hurt me or take me away, and that Mama loved you and you'd helped her save Skyrim, and Sigrun seemed to like you a bit after that. Although she did ask if you'd ever hit me, but I told her you never would, you're nice!” Maia looked up, suddenly nervous and her voice dropped to a tiny whisper. “You wouldn't, would you?”

“Of course not!” Madanach protested, taking her hand. “I don't hit children! Especially not you. You're my little girl and I love you.”

The joy on Maia's face was a sight to behold and she promptly cuddled Madanach.

“Why did you think I might hit you?” Madanach asked, relieved but a bit worried she'd think it, as neither he nor Elisif had ever raised a hand to her, and certainly no one else ever would have.

“Because they hit children here!” Maia whispered. “They used to whip naughty apprentices in the Circle, and sometimes mamas and daddies smack children here too!”

It wasn't unknown in Tamriel either, and Reachman culture did have a tendency to portray children collectively as little pains in the backside from Namira herself, but Madanach guessed Maia had been sheltered from that, and even Reachmen tended not to beat their own kids – not really necessary when threats of the Matriarch's wrath were so much more effective. All the same, he had noticed a slightly punitive streak towards humanity over here – humanity had been rejected by the Maker in the Chantry's eyes and children had a burden of sin to struggle against, mage children in particular. Nothing like that was found in Tamrielic lore – humanity was as it was, possibly a degraded form of elven blood in some accounts, certainly not perfect, but children of Mara nonetheless. Most decent parents tended to accept that their children were trying their best, and extended the same patience Mara showed her imperfect children. Beatings were definitely a last resort, reserved only for the worst infractions.

“Well, your mama and I don't,” Madanach promised. “You're quite safe. We won't let anyone hurt you.”

Maia's pathetic grateful smile tore at his heartstrings as she cuddled him, and Madanach quietly vowed to stop at nothing to keep her safe.

And then Maia managed to bring tears to his eyes again with her next words.

“Granda Caradach was there too, he was teaching me illusion magic, I told him I'd read his book and he looked really pleased! And he said he was very pleased to meet me and I was a credit to my parents. And I told him you'd been ill but got better and were King of the Reach and the best mage ever except maybe Auntie Keirine, and he looked like he was going to cry but he smiled and said he was proud of you both. He's been keeping bad spirits away too, he puts up illusions and they get confused or scared and they leave.”

Madanach wasn't really able to say any more than that, but it really did sound so like his own long-dead (murdered by Nords) father. Caradach had been a scholar and a man of peace. Madanach's own career was rather different, spurred on by rage against the injustice that had orphaned him, and he'd long wondered if his father would actually approve. Hearing that he had… well, it was probably a spirit with his father's form maybe. A trick of the Fade, and the charms would soon prove if it was the real thing or an impostor.

Vivienne would no doubt tell him this was how spirits got under your skin in the first place and that he should silence his heart to any sentimentality on this subject and start crushing his daughter's dreams in addition to his own for all their sakes.

But Vivienne was not here and Vivienne knew nothing about parenting, and frankly Vivienne could eat it. And so Madanach cuddled his daughter and sat with her and the afternoon slipped by before either of them knew it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Hammering on the door woke them both up, and Dorian's voice shouting his name did nothing for Madanach's name.

And then it occurred to him that Dorian had been out there in the Fallow Mire with Elisif, and if he'd arrived, early, and was desperate to get Madanach's attention…

Heart in his mouth even before his empathy bond could tell him Elisif was still miles away and unharmed, Madanach had set Maia aside and run to the door to fling it open.

Dorian was there but it wasn't Elisif clinging onto him. It was Alistair, grimacing in pain and with an arm round the mage's shoulders.

Alistair looked up, hazel eyes staring up at him, anguished expression on his face as he let go of Dorian and flung himself into Madanach's arms, not saying a word. 

“Alistair?” Madanach gasped as he instinctively held on to him. “Are you all right?”

Alistair clearly wasn't, shaking his head as he clung on to Madanach, and Dorian was rubbing Alistair's back and looking apologetic.

“His amulet broke,” Dorian told him. “Got hit by an arrow during the battle. Which Elisif won quite handily, by the way, they're all on the way back with the captured soldiers. However, this one was going slowly mad from the Calling, has barely slept on the way back, and is teetering on the verge of a nervous breakdown. We all decided it would be best if he rode on ahead and I volunteered to bring him. Maker knows how Blackwall's coping, but he's the stoic and unbending type whereas Alistair is as delicate as he is high-strung and needs rather more love and attention.”

“'m sorry,” Alistair whispered, and Madanach reached up and cupped his head in his hand, stroking Alistair's hair and holding him closer.

“It is not your fault,” Madanach murmured. “It's all right. It's all right. I've got you. I'm here. I'm here, bion. I've got you.”

Alistair was still clinging onto him, but he was no longer shaking and he seemed a little bit calmer. Dorian certainly looked impressed.

“That's amazing. You haven't even cast any magic!” Dorian laughed. “Could you do that for me at some point? It looks so soothing.”

The glare Madanach gave him was in sharp contrast to the gentle concern Alistair had received. 

“You are not suffering distressing side-effects of the darkspawn taint,” Madanach growled at him. “You appear to be just fine. Thank you for bringing him but if you don't mind, I think Alistair is best tended to in private?”

“Suit yourself,” Dorian sighed, but his expression did soften a bit as he patted Alistair on the back. “You know where to find me if you need me for anything, my friend.”

Alistair murmured a thank you, and Dorian took his leave. Madanach closed the door behind him, and it was only then he felt someone tugging on his kilt. Looking down, he felt his throat close up to see Maia staring up at him, wide-eyed and worried.

“Is Alistair all right?” she whispered, and Madanach felt Alistair stiffen in his arms as he too realised Maia was watching. Madanach promptly summoned a calming spell and wove it around Alistair, followed by the illusion shield itself to block the Calling, feeling him relax once more, and only then did he answer his daughter.

“He's not well, cariad,” Madanach explained. “He has something called the Calling and it affects his mind if we don't use magic to treat it. Don't worry, you can't catch it.”

“So how did he get it?” Maia asked, clutching Frogella to her chest nervously.

“It's a side-effect of being a Grey Warden,” Alistair said, lifting his head from Madanach's chest and smiling down at Maia. “I don't mi – all right, I do mind, but I don't regret becoming one. So don't feel sorry and don't worry. I chose this.”

From the look on Maia's face, it was clear she didn't understand this at all, but she did dart forward and cuddle Alistair's leg… and then promptly let him go, crying out as a sharp edge on his greaves had cut her cheek. 

Madanach swiftly directed Alistair into the nearest chair before tending to Maia, and one healing spell and a cloth pressed to her cheek and kissing it better later, and Maia at least was fine.

“Alistair bion, could you change out of your plate armour please?” Madanach sighed. “No one can cuddle you in that. I have just about got it into Elisif's head to take the stuff off when she gets in so that Maia and I can cuddle her properly, I don't want to have to do the same thing with you.”

Alistair opened his mouth to explain that he was OK with the plate, and actually felt at his most comfortable when covered from head to toe in solid metal, but he saw Maia staring sadly up at him and realised he couldn't do it. So he agreed, and with Madanach's assistance, soon had the armour off.

And immediately felt oddly vulnerable. Alistair shivered despite the fire being lit and a fire rune also blazing heat up from the floor. Madanach was over on the other side of the room removing and unwrapping a chicken which was apparently going to be spitroasted over the fire, and there was a thing, Madanach using telekinesis to levitate a chicken with one hand, while holding the spit with the other.

“The handwashing facilities here are not as good as I'd like and I'm not risking poisoning us all,” Madanach told him. “Don't look at me like that, did no one ever tell you to always wash your hands after handling raw chicken?”

“Um, no,” Alistair said, blushing as Madanach tutted and told him he was never letting Alistair cook unsupervised, now starting to wonder how many people he'd inadvertently poisoned… before it occurred to him he hardly ever cooked for anyone anyway. That Madanach appeared quite capable of assembling a decent meal was a surprise, and seeing all the magic just casually employed in the making of said meal was just weird. But fascinating, and as Alistair watched, he felt the anxiety fade. He was perfectly safe, just sitting here watching a good friend cook dinner while his five year old… well, actually she was looking shyly up at him, as if she wanted to ask him something.

“What's up, Maia?” he asked, and Maia ran closer, going a bit pink as she hid her face with her hair.

“Can I sit on your lap?” she whispered. Which was an odd request, but maybe she didn't have anywhere else to sit. The only child-sized seat in the cabin was a small wooden stool with a frog painted on it, quite possibly newly commissioned or purchased by someone thinking the Herald's little girl might want a chair. But right now, it seemed he was her preferred choice.

“Go on then,” he told her, unable to stop grinning at the way she squealed and bounced before he lifted her up and settled her in place. She promptly snuggled into his chest, cuddling him, and whatever Alistair had expected, it wasn't the sudden pang of broodiness that had just hit him. He'd thought he was OK with likely never having kids. He'd thought he'd accepted it, dealt with it, moved on.

He'd not thought that one little girl cuddling him would suddenly bring out all this emotion, but it was. Here he was, sitting in a cabin, with a little girl in his lap cuddling him, and someone he cared about making dinner, and it was just such a sweet, domestic scene… and Alistair wanted that. He wanted someone to come home to, who'd kiss him on the cheek, take him in his arms, tell him dinner was ready and the kids had missed him. He really wanted it. Because it would feel like this and this was really nice… but it wasn't real, was it? Because Madanach was married to someone else and was definitely not his lover, and crucially not female, and Maia was not his child even if she did seem to be getting rather attached to him. This was Elisif's family, not his, even if he did want to bed Elisif rather badly. Even if having Madanach cuddle him felt perfect.

Elisif's family. Not his, he reminded himself. He was just a guest, if a welcome one. So he closed his eyes, cuddled Maia and decided to just enjoy this while it lasted. Because it wouldn't and he had no place here. 

_Don't get used to this, Alistair._

“Alistair?” Maia was whispering hopefully. “Alistair, did you see Mama fight the bad Avvar?”

Alistair opened his eyes, looking down to see eagerness and hope in Maia's eyes, a child clearly hoping for a story, particularly a story of heroic deeds starring her beloved mama.

“See it?” Alistair laughed. “Maia, I was _in_ it! Want to hear the story? It's VERY exciting!”

Particularly as it occurred to him neither knew he was Dragonborn yet. Neither knew he could Shout anyway. Neither knew the Avvar were Nords either. Maybe this was as good a time as any to tell them. Maia had squeaked, nodded and was now sitting attentively, and Madanach, the chicken on a magically-rotating spit over a blazing fire rune and the vegetables boiling away in a cauldron over the actual fire, had subtly positioned himself so he could hear it as well.

“All right then,” Alistair promised. “Well, we'd already slogged through the marsh, up to our ar- er, up to our bottoms in mud and water and Maker knows what else, with the rain howling down and undead corpses rising up out of the mire, and only that sword of Elisif's keeping them at bay. We'd made a camp in a relatively sheltered bit, and set out on our way again after a rest and resupply and a firm word with Dorian about catching bogfishers in his area of effect spells, because if he casts chain lightning on one and it charges right at me again, bogfishing his own sorry carcass out of the mire is what he'll be doing, I can tell you.”

Maia giggled at that, Madanach also snickering at that mental image, and it was funny, but at the time, bruised and soaked and cold and covered in mud because SOMEONE had fucked off the local wildlife with stray magic, it had not been funny at all and Dorian Pavus had nearly ended up dumped in the mire headfirst. But he was digressing and so he moved on to Skywatcher.

“And then we ran into the Avvar tribe's healer-priest who'd wandered off to study a Fade rift. We dealt with the rift, and he helped with the demons and then we all got talking, and we learnt a few _fascinating_ things about Avvar culture.”

Maia was staring up at him, wide-eyed and curious and Madanach was glancing up, interested despite himself.

“Well, it can't be completely dull if it held your interest,” Madanach remarked. “What did you find out? Way I hear it, they're a bunch of hard-drinking barbarians who think a good punch-up is the highlight of the evening's recreational activity. Like Nords except more so.”

Which was a bit rich from someone whose culture considered Watching Madanach Creatively Execute Someone an unmissable social event to be talked of for weeks, but Alistair was not to know that.

“They are Nords,” Alistair told him proudly. “It turned out he understood Tamrielic. Sort of. They've diverged a bit. But they understand each other, they both worship the goddess Kyne, known as the Lady of the Skies, and it turns out they both believe the suicidally brave go to this eternal mead hall called Shovinnagarden.”

“Sovngarde,” Madanach said quietly, no longer laughing, and Maia was staring up with her mouth open wide. “Alistair, are you serious?? The Avvar actually believe in exactly the same things Nords do?”

“Yes!” Alistair said, before he remembered what else they believed in. “They, er, believe the world will end when Alduin the Sky-Eater rises and destroys the Lady of the Skies, and only a Dragonborn can save them. Someone, er, with the blood of dragons in their veins. Like, er, Elisif.”

“And me!” Maia cried, bouncing up and down. “I'm Dragonborn! And Alduin's dead, Mama killed him!”

“Yes,” Madanach said, watching Alistair intently. “Go on.”

“She used the Thu'um when she went up against the chief, and they recognised her as Dragonborn,” Alistair said quietly. “One fled for his life, but the others fought back. They wouldn't surrender or anything. We had to fight, and we won. Just about. I got hit with a couple of arrows, broke my amulet but my armour took the worst of it. Except it meant Elisif was fighting the chief alone, and he dodged a blow and tried to hit back and he'd have got her too… and then I discovered I can Shout. Because Elisif told me a Shout the night before and when he was going to hurt her, I couldn't… look, if I couldn't charge him down, I can Shout him away, right? And it worked, and Blackwall killed him. But I'm Dragonborn. I'm Dragonborn. I thought it was a ritual involving drinking actual dragon's blood, and who knows, maybe that works. But in the oldest tales, it was something else, wasn't it? It was knowing how to do this. And the Nords tend to revere their Dragonborns and put them in charge, like they did with Elisif, and the Avvars do too, if they put anyone in charge. But it's not just Nords, is it? Because the Avvars split off from the Alamarri, and the ones that weren't Avvars became… became the Fereldans. Like me. And… and Andraste. Maker, Madanach, Elisif thinks Andraste might have been Dragonborn and it was her Thu'um not her singing that gave her power. And even if she _wasn't,_ she's still Alamarri. She's descended from Nords. We would never have had Andrastianism without Tamriel. Fu- I mean, Madanach, this is… I mean… we owe you everything!”

Maia was looking between them, confused and trying to figure all this out, and Madanach, dinner forgotten, got up with a very strange look on his face and came over, perching on the arm of Alistair's chair with his arms round Alistair's shoulders, and he leaned over and kissed the top of Alistair's head, snuggling Alistair in his arms.

“You don't owe me anything, bion,” Madanach murmured. “And I'm fairly certain your cultural hero owes nothing to a bunch of Reachman heathens.”

Maia was cuddling up to him too, and Alistair put one arm round Maia and another round Madanach and held on to them for all he was worth, because right now all of this was terrifying and confusing and could rip Thedas apart for good. And he had no idea what to do.

“What happens now?” Alistair whispered. “I mean… this is huge. And the Avvar know the Herald's a Dragonborn, the friendly one's gone back to tell the rest. And Dorian and Varric and Blackwall know, which means Varric's one day going to put it in a book and...”

Hand on his chest and Madanach's lips were by his ear as he whispered “breathe”.

Alistair stopped talking and breathed in time with Madanach increasing and decreasing pressure on his chest, and eventually the anxiety faded and he felt calmer.

“Thank you,” he whispered as Madanach lifted his hand and cuddled him instead, kissing him on top of the head again. Alistair closed his eyes and found himself recalling another night, over a decade ago now, six months after his Joining, a few drinks the worse for wear and being helped back to bed by Duncan.

_Vision blurring, clinging on to Duncan, too much to drink but it doesn't matter. Duncan's here, that's what matters. He's here and everything's going to be all right._ And it had been until Alistair, his inhibitions down and in the arms of someone who cared about him, had lost his head entirely, snuggled up to Duncan, kissed his cheek and whispered he loved him.

And Duncan had _flinched,_ before setting Alistair on his bed, stepping firmly away and providing him with some water and a bucket, telling Alistair he'd had far too much to drink and needed to rest. Alistair had woken up and felt ill from more than just the seven pints of ale from the previous night but thankfully Duncan hadn't mentioned it and had just acted as if it had never happened. Alistair had kept his thoughts to himself after that, ruthlessly repressing any thoughts or fantasies involving men getting up close and personal with him. Ladies. He liked ladies. Not men. Not like that. It would only end in tears and embarrassment and not everyone was as understanding as Duncan, were they?

Madanach was stepping back, ruffling first Alistair's hair then Maia's, and then picking Maia up, calmly commenting that dinner was nearly ready and perhaps Maia could fetch her stool and table, hmm?

Maia turned out to have a little table of her own and the frog stool, child-sized and perfect for eating off, and then Madanach was serving dinner and inviting Alistair to sit by the fire and join him.

“Seriously, what does happen now?” Alistair whispered. “This Andraste being a Nord thing could change everything.”

“Well, we don't say anything, for a start,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “We can't hide that you've got the Thu'um but we can keep the shared ancestry hidden until we make contact with Tamriel again. With the Empire at our back, we might be able to use this to our advantage. The scary heathen land across the sea might be a bit less scary if we can tell people it's the Alamarri homeland. And the Chantry can't flood us with missionaries preaching the good news about Andraste if we've told everyone already that she's a Lost Dragonborn Nord.”

That Madanach was thinking so far ahead worried Alistair, it really did, because he'd never have thought of all that. He didn't know whether to be impressed or scared. A bit of both maybe. If he was a loyal Andrastian, he might be appalled. But Alistair was no longer sure what he believed, and he'd seen the Chantry's care firsthand.

“And whatever happens, we need to know more,” Madanach was also saying. “Some of the MageGuard seemed to think the Avvar had more enlightened attitudes to magic than the Chantry, and they'd marked a few engravings out in the Hinterlands. Liriel was going to investigate but obviously she's not here. In the light of this, researching the Avvar just shot up the priority list. I'll need to send a few scouts out there to get rubbings. And keep an eye on them. I don't trust the Chantry not to start removing evidence if they got wind of it.”

“They wouldn't, would they?” Alistair gasped, before remembering the Chantry brothers who'd overseen his teen years and realised with horror they might.

“We'll get the Inquisition keeping an eye on the engravings,” Madanach promised. “We won't tell them why. Just that some of us are interested in the various cultures of Thedas. They say it's the founding story of the Avvar and their foremother Tyrdda Bright-Axe, but it's engraved in several different tongues. Could be invaluable to scholars.”

“Skywatcher pronounced it Teer-tha,” Alistair said sleepily. “Said Elisif was a Daughter of Tyrdda.”

Madanach put down his plate in stunned amazement, because there was only one tongue he knew of that had that combination of sounds.

“That's a Reachwoman's name,” Madanach said quietly. “As are a lot of Fereldan names – yours, for example. I just thought it was coincidence, but… if the Alamarri came from Skyrim, it can't be. All right, we need to get copies of those carvings, they say some of it's never been translated, but what if it's in Tamrielic. Or the Reach tongue – gods, Alistair, you have no idea what that would mean!”

“You mean, your people came along too? Not just Nords?” Alistair said, excitement over this warring with sleepiness. “You mean… you mean South Reach really does have a North Reach!”

“South Reach?” Madanach asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“Yeah,” Alistair said, suppressing a yawn, or trying to at any rate. “'S a town on the southern border'f Ferelden, they say it's cos it's on the southernmost reach of Ferelden but we always used to joke about what happened to North Reach. Drove Morrigan mad. But now we know!”

“There's another Reach name,” Madanach murmured to himself, but Alistair didn't respond. He was too busy yawning, his empty plate sliding out of his lap, and it was clear the lack of sleep was telling on him.

Somebody needed a nap.

“Daddy, he's falling asleep!” Maia whispered. “Alistair's falling asleep!”

“Yes, he is,” Madanach agreed, wondering what to do about it before realising he had little choice. “All right, Alistair, get up, come with me, there's a good boy.”

Alistair was just about awake enough to respond, clinging on to Madanach as he steered him to the bed, staying upright long enough to collapse on it. Madanach helped him get some of his outer clothing off and pulled the covers over him, smiling fondly as Alistair closed his eyes.

“Well Maia, looks like Alistair is staying the night,” Madanach said, grinning to himself. “Let's hope he doesn't snore, eh?”

Maia giggled, but did at least go out of her way to keep the noise down so Alistair didn't wake up, and so Madanach put the dishes out for collection, put Maia to bed, and then spent the next few hours staring at the sleeping Dragonborn in his bed. Blonde hair, not red. Skin a little lighter than Fiona's olive complexion, but not as Nord pale as Elisif's. Muscles. Dear gods, Alistair had them. Not like Borkul or Iron Bull, but he was no weakling either. Exactly Madanach's type. 

And he got to sleep next to this stunningly handsome warrior all night, and couldn't do anything because… well, it would be bad. Still, there were worse people to sleep next to. Maybe he'd wake up to find Alistair cuddling him. He could but hope.

As Madanach finished his evening routine and climbed in alongside a sleeping Alistair, he wondered which of them would break first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Alistair woke up to darkness, not knowing where he was, only that he was in a bed and didn't remember exactly how he got there. Which wasn't a novel sensation by any means, but he'd not been drinking last night. All he remembered was having dinner with Madanach and Maia then feeling increasingly tired due to not having slept very well for the last week what with the Calling keeping him up half the night and then…

Alistair looked around, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, and with growing horror he realised he did know where he was. This was Madanach and Elisif's bed. And…

He lowered his eyes from the ceiling and realised Madanach was lying alongside him, silvery-blonde hair the most visible part of him, the rest of him huddled underneath the covers. Close enough for Alistair to touch.

_Madanach turning over, silver eyes opening, inviting smile on his face, fingertips brushing along Alistair's arm, then up to his cheek and Alistair closing the distance and kissing him, rolling him onto his back, Madanach unresisting and opening his arms to invite Alistair in, yielding completely and letting Alistair take what he wanted._

Alistair gasped and shrank back, appalled at himself, and where was this even coming from?? Women, he preferred women, pretty women, women with wide eyes and long hair and full breasts and…

_A warrior's physique, muscles underneath the curves, a few scars, red hair, fierce blue eyes, the ability to Shout him onto his back and wrestle him into submission…_

Andraste help him. This was no better. Worse if anything, because it occurred to him that not only did part of him want to despoil and ravage a dear friend, said dear friend was also the husband of the fierce and terrifying Herald of Andraste. Who would certainly punish an assault on her husband, and would not forgive such a betrayal.

What Madanach would think about Alistair shoving him down and forcing himself on him, Alistair couldn't even bring himself to think about. 

_He'd use magic on me. Except I can stop that, he'd be defenceless, oh Maker no, I can't…_

But he wanted to. Forbidden, wrong, probably sinful, might be legal between two men but it was still considered not quite the done thing. Not condemned but not encouraged either. And Duncan had flinched away from him. Alistair had absorbed the lesson well. You did not do this with other men, you did not talk about it, you did not act on it. And definitely not with someone who was married, and to someone else you cared about as well.

Alistair had to get out of here, because he didn't know how he was going to lie here resisting temptation all night. So he slowly sat up, wondering how he was going to get out of here without waking Madanach. 

He needn't have bothered. Behind him, Madanach stirred, turned over, cast a magelight and sat up, rubbing his eyes and shivering in the cold.

“Alistair? Are you all right?”

Alistair froze and didn't answer, forcing down the emotion that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.

“Alistair?” And then Madanach was breathing in his ear, a hand on his far shoulder, clearly meant to pull him back to bed. “Alistair bion, you'll get cold. Come back to bed. If it's the Calling bothering you, I can cast the spells again, or we can just cuddle and talk if something else is worrying you.”

_YOU. YOU are what is worrying me._ And it would not stop at cuddling, it would continue with kissing and groping, and it would probably end with Alistair making Madanach suck his cock, all the while hissing depravities at him. 

Alistair felt revolted at the very thought, because Madanach was a friend, a man he cared about, he couldn't do that to him, he just couldn't.

“I need to leave,” Alistair whispered. “I'm sorry, Madanach, I know it's late but I can't stay. You should – you should let me go.”

“Go?? Go where? Alistair, it's the middle of the night, where in the Void are you going to go?” Madanach demanded. “Alistair, what's wrong. You can talk to me about things, I won't judge you.”

Alistair was absolutely certain Madanach would not want to hear about this and would definitely judge him, and he was just thankful that he was still in his woollen full-length underwear that covered most of his body. He had a feeling Madanach was topless at the very least – apparently Reachman culture involved showing off as much flesh as was decently allowed and using magic to keep warm instead.

“I'm sorry, Madanach,” he said, kicking the covers back and crawling towards the end of the bed so as to get out that way without touching Madanach.

He did make it out of the bed, but alas Madanach had other ideas, as he followed him out and reached out to grab his arms from behind.

“Alistair, wait, you don't have to… don't go, love,” Madanach was saying, voice running away with him as he forgot to censor himself and used the Thedosian word for a loved one, not a Reach one. “Please, tell me what's wrong. Was it anything I did?”

“No,” Alistair whispered, feeling guilt, want, desire, terror, pain, all mingling. But his Templar training had not deserted him, and Alistair reined in the desire to turn on Madanach and cling onto him and tell him everything and face what judgement might come.

He wasn't to know there'd have been no judgement, no turning away, just Madanach kissing him and leading him back to bed, grinning as he whispered he'd had this exact same conversation with Elisif once and it hadn't worked out too badly, had it, now do please tell me more about these depraved fantasies you've been having.

But Elisif had been a Nord, raised in a culture with no Chantry and where the temples blessed same-sex relationships the same way they did different-sex relationships, and Dibella sanctified all acts of consensual love and pleasure, and Mara smiled on all loving families, even the unconventional ones. She had also seen Madanach being annoyed, irritated, angry, teasing, smug, a whole range of emotions, very few of which had been intended to court her. She'd seen the King in Rags before she'd ever seen the family man, and so she'd not worried about traumatising him or about him judging her, because by that point she was well aware that the moral high ground was unfamiliar territory for him, to put it mildly. 

Alistair had none of that. He'd spent his sexually formative years in the prudish arms of the Chantry, and his first same-sex advance had been repelled with no further discussion. And most crucially, he knew nothing of Hagravens or Briarhearts or the many many crimes of the Forsworn Rebellion. He'd seen Madanach's compassion but none of his ruthlessness. And so he reacted very differently.

“Madanach, you have been nothing but kind to me,” Alistair said softly. “You've fed me, cared for me, invited me into your home… and I'd repay you with… Madanach, I can't talk about it. Just… just let me leave. Let me leave here and… and I'll never bother you again.”

An addict's extreme reaction, an extravagant promise from someone who could only offer all or nothing, who couldn't think clearly or moderate his reactions. Someone who'd not had his own struggles might have let him go.

Madanach had not spent all that time in weekly Skooma addict support meetings for nothing. He knew what lay behind it.

“Don't,” Madanach said, not bothering to keep the pleading out of his voice. “Don't leave the Inquisition. We still need you. Don't… look, bion, if you can't be near me, for whatever reason, whatever I remind you of, whatever emotions I stir in you, don't run away completely. Don't go fleeing into the night with no thought but to hide where no one will ever find you. There is still a place for you here, there always will be.”

Alistair shook his head, lump in his throat, knowing it wasn't true and his best option was to flee into the night and do what a true Warden should have done the moment the Calling first meandered into his head – go to Orzammar, return to the Deep Roads and go to his death. It would be for the best, the lying addict voice whispered. Flee, leave it all behind you, you don't deserve to be happy, you're worthless and useless, just end it all and make your death mean something.

“What place do I have here,” Alistair said softly. “Sitting here watching what I can't have, slowly going mad from the Calling and watching you and watching Elisif and either destroying myself or destroying your marriage… Madanach, please. Let me go. You're better off without me.”

“Not true,” Madanach said, voice husky and urgent. “But if you can't be here… go to Grand Enchanter Fiona. She could find a use for you. The free mages don't trust Templars, but you're not one. You left, and you have a lot of stories poking fun at Cullen. More importantly, you have their training and Fiona has apprentice mages prone to misfired magicka, and older mages who might need someone to help contain experiments before they get out of hand. It's a big camp, and I know Bethany thinks highly of you for helping her love life out. If you can't be with me… ask Fiona for help. I happen to know she's got a soft spot for you. Apparently you remind her of someone.”

Alistair couldn't begin to imagine who. But he'd need to confess about his amulet anyway. Maybe she'd kill him and save everyone the trouble. He could but hope.

“All right,” Alistair whispered, shoulders relaxing. Madanach took a deep breath and stepped away, returning to bed as Alistair gathered his clothes and got dressed. He only drew nearer when Alistair reached for the armour, helping fasten the back straps on his cuirass, and once Alistair was fully clad in metal, Madanach stepped away, sitting back on the bed and looking sad and defeated.

Alistair had done that and he didn't think he was going to be able to forgive himself for this, not for a long time. But the idea of going to Fiona wasn't a bad one. Perhaps he'd die heroically saving one of the mage kids from a stray fireball or something.

And so he took his leave, one last whispered 'I'm sorry' and then Alistair was gone out into the night. Leaving Madanach standing in the anteroom, shivering in his underwear and staring at the door, feeling his heart break. And then things got worse, because someone shuffled behind him, and then little footsteps padded on the floor as Maia came to see what was going on.

“Daddy?” she whispered. “Where's Alistair going?”

“He's moving to the mage camp, little one,” Madanach said softly, seeing no reason to lie to her. “I'm sorry. I know you like him. I don't want him to go either.”

Little gasp of despair and shock from Maia.

“But he can't!” Maia gasped. “How will he look after me if he's all the way over there? He's not a mage. He should be here!”

“I know,” Madanach said, picking her up. “I wish he was here too. But he's free to live where he wants.”

Maia sniffled and clung onto him as he carried her into the main room. Somehow he didn't think either of them would get much sleep if they slept alone tonight. So he tucked her up in the double bed instead and climbed in next to her.

“I don't want him to live with the mages, I want him to live with us,” Maia whispered, sounding as despairing as he felt.

“I know, love,” Madanach said softly, kissing the top of her head as she snuggled under the blankets. “He might change his mind, but right now he just needs space. And a bit of time.”

“How much time,” Maia asked, not happy with this at all.

“I don't know,” Madanach sighed. “We need to give him time alone.”

Maia didn't answer, but she clearly wasn't happy, because she rolled forward and clung on to him, lower lip jutting out. Madanach felt his heart go out to her.

“We will give him a bit of time, then go visit the mages,” Madanach murmured. “I'm not sure I should see him, but no reason you can't.”

It consoled her a bit. And so Madanach cuddled his daughter to comfort them both and eventually drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Alistair, you poor messed up boy. Still, all this means he's going to end up staying with and spending time with the mother he doesn't know he has. How long do you think it will be before Fiona breaks, hmm?
> 
> I also wanted to deal with the effect of spirits pestering the Tamrielic mages. The adults are all capable of dealing with it, but Maia's vulnerable... so I got her some protection from some ancestor spirits. We can't have tiny little Maia getting possessed, can we? And it gives me a chance to flesh out some of Elisif and Madanach's backstories.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair seeks the help of the one person in Haven who might be able to help, and the resulting conversation sets them both on a path that could lead to either ecstasy or misery. But Alistair's problems are not so easily banished, particularly when Madanach is in no mood to give up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another double-post, because I have stuff I want to get out of the way before In Your Heart Shall Burn kicks off. This one picks up where the other leaves off and it's mostly Alistair fretting about things he really doesn't need to fret about, Fiona also going through the mill a bit, and Madanach and Maia, in their own ways, Not Helping.

Early hours of the morning, and Fiona could not sleep. Dreams kept her awake all too often most nights. Dreams of dead friends – her fellow mages, lost in the rebellion. Duncan dying at Ostagar, accusing eyes wanting to know why her magic hadn't saved him. Maric, poor beloved Maric who she'd never really got over, walking into darkness and looking over his shoulder with sadness in his eyes, wanting to know why she'd not walked into it with him. 

Her poor, innocent, abandoned baby, who'd gone to sleep one night lulled into dreamland by a mother who loved him, and waking into a world without her. Grown into a man who had a good heart and a strong sword-arm and a charming smile… but tainted Warden blood and a pit of self-loathing behind his eyes that matched her own, having grown up believing no one loved or wanted him. Free of his parents' legacies, but Fiona couldn't help but wonder if she'd done the right thing.

She didn't know, but she could do nothing tonight. He wouldn't be back for days yet, riding at the Herald's side, and when his eyes fell on her, they changed. She'd seen it all right. He'd look at a married woman and instead of looking away, he'd keep looking, love and admiration all over his face. He couldn't leave well alone, and while Fiona couldn't fault his taste, she had a feeling the Herald's holy fire would kill him if he wasn't careful. Or more precisely, Madanach's extremely not-holy fire might do the job, which was why she kept that man close. Close enough to intervene if (when) everything fell apart.

But right now all was calm, so Fiona dealt with her insomnia by wrapping up warm, putting down a fire glyph to warm the command tent up with, and sitting up and going over a few bits of paperwork in her command tent in the vain hope it might lull her to sleep. They were just about there with tracking down all the MageGuard cells, and Leliana's agents had been most helpful in spreading word of the alliance out. It turned out many of the missions had been trying to identify mage-friendly nobles or find hotspots of trouble and deal with the problems in order to win friends among common citizens, but an alliance with the Inquisition meant those missions were either unnecessary or better achieved with Inquisition help, and so the MageGuard were returning to their new base.

Which meant logistical problems all of their own, but the thing about camping was that it didn't cost much to get some more tents erected for them all, and Madanach was being very helpful in organising it all. Fiona would never say this to his face, but his experience was invaluable. Damn the man, but he was just too useful. She hoped she wouldn't have to kill him to save her son from his jealous wrath.

So engrossed was she in her work that she didn't notice the figure approaching the tent until his shadow blocked the light. Crying out, she shrank back, reaching for her staff in panic as she saw heavily armoured male warrior, instinctively thought Templar and threw down a glyph of repulsion.

Too late she saw eyes reflecting magelights, and heard the wail as the glyph flung him back… although not as well as it should have done. Someone seemed able to resist force magic, at least a little.

Alistair staggered back, falling to his knees in the snow, letting a full pack fall to the floor as he held up his hands.

“I'm sorry!” Alistair blurted out, confused and scared and looking for all the world like Maric and Fiona had to grab the table very suddenly to keep upright, because she'd been very intentionally keeping him at a distance and not interacting too much with him, mainly because just looking at him hurt. And he'd respected that and backed off and she'd been rather glad not just of the space, but that he was making friends and making a life for himself here.

Apparently something had gone wrong, because he was back, early, with all his things, not just what he'd taken to the Fallow Mire… which meant something had gone wrong for him, and somehow he'd taken it into his head to seek her out.

The Maker was clearly having a marvellous cosmic joke at her expense.

“Alistair?” she whispered. “Alistair, what's wrong? Aren't you supposed to be with the Herald?”

Alistair shook his head, hands falling into his lap as he looked away, shaking his head.

“It went wrong,” Alistair said quietly. “Everything's wrong, I ruined everything, and now I've got to leave the Inquisition and go to the Deep Roads and try and die honourably, and Madanach seems to think you can help but buggered if I know how.”

Fiona dispelled the glyph, restoking the nearby campfire instead and went over to him, her blood chilling as she saw him staring up at her in the firelight, broken and despairing and looking like he was about to cry.

_But he's fine, he's OK, he was making friends, finding a place here, he doesn't need his mother._ She remembered telling Madanach all that, and Madanach firmly insisting Alistair was not all right, not at all, and he did need in fact need his mother very badly. She'd disbelieved him, because distrusting Madanach at least a little was rapidly becoming an instinctive reaction. But in this at least, Fiona realised he'd been right. Alistair was far from all right.

Fiona knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his back. 

“What happened?” she asked, just about keeping her voice calm. “Alistair, what's wrong? What did you do?? Is the Herald throwing you out?”

Alistair shook his head, glancing up at her.

“No,” he sighed. “But she will when she finds out. Grand Enchanter… do you know how to perform the Rite of Tranquillity?”

No, because that particular fate lay in the hands of the Templars, although there were those in the Inquisition's Templars who might. Not that Fiona was ever going to inflict that on anyone. Never again was she going to be sitting up late, biting her lip, compiling a list of enough names to fill the Chantry's annual quota and then agonising over the decision, each rite breaking her heart. And then she realised why he was asking.

“No,” she whispered, feeling the tears threatening to come, then the rage, the mere idea of her baby having his mind wrecked. “No, absolutely not, I refuse, I will not… how could you even ask me such a thing??”

She had a hand over her mouth, fighting the urge to be sick, and she was shaking all over, she knew it, and he'd flinched back guiltily, clearly thinking she was some sort of madwoman… or possibly misinterpreting entirely and just thinking it was a sore point. Which it was, but he couldn't know the half of it.

“I'm sorry,” Alistair said, not meeting her eyes. “I know you started your whole rebellion over it, I know you may have had it happen to loved ones, I know mages hate it, but please, I need it, I just want it to stop, I want to not feel any more, maybe if I don't want anything any more, it'll be all right, Fiona please!”

“No!” Fiona cried, her mind full of memories, memories of three decades ago but still fresh in her mind, memories of happy smiling baby in her arms, beaming up at her as she sang elven lullabies to him. He would never remember, but she couldn't forget, and she could never bear to see that baby's happy smile wiped out forever.

“No, don't ask me,” Fiona said roughly. “Don't ever ask me that again. I cannot… I will not allow it!”

“I'm sorry,” Alistair gasped, hands to his head, and then she realised he was crying, sobbing quietly, shoulders shaking as if he was unable to stop. “I'm so sorry, what was I thinking, I should never have asked… please make it stop, alcohol was the only thing that ever made it go away and I can't even do that any more, please...”

Fiona couldn't make it stop. But she couldn't keep him at bay either. Not her baby. Without even thinking she'd reached out to him, taking him in her arms and doing her best to hold and comfort a grown human man who no longer fit into her embrace.

“I've got you,” Fiona whispered to him. “I've got you, child. I'm here. I've got you. I've got you, sshhhh.”

Alistair had gone rather still, clearly a bit surprised but not objecting either, in fact he was repositioning himself, and soon he was sitting in the snow, head resting against her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Alistair whispered. “You don't have to do this. You must have a million better things to do than look after me.”

“Not right now I don't,” Fiona said, wishing she could tell him everything. It might help, knowing he had a mother who loved him. Or it might push him over the edge. But she could take care of him at least. “You're welcome to stay here as long as you like. But what happened, Alistair? Is Elisif back already or did you ride on ahead?”

“She sent me on ahead,” Alistair said quietly. “Got in earlier today with Dorian. I went to Madanach's to get the Calling spells refreshed and bring him news and ended up staying for dinner… and I fell asleep. In his bed.”

In his… what?? THAT was not something she'd have seen coming. But it might explain why Alistair was here, wanting feelings to go away and saying he'd ruined everything. Fiona had not thought Alistair's tastes ran that way, but you could never tell.

“Alistair,” Fiona whispered. “Alistair, what did you do? What happened?” 

Something must have done. She presumed consensually. Madanach would not have sent a man he'd assaulted to the man's own mother. Not when said mother was a match for him in a fight.

“Nothing happened!” Alistair sighed. “Not like… not like that. He just tucked me up in bed in my underwear and let me sleep. He got in next to me later on, but nothing happened. Madanach didn't do anything wrong. He's been so sweet and so kind and I know he's usually not like that with other people, but he's still always taken care of me. There's nothing wrong with him, Grand Enchanter. It… it's me. The problem's me.”

He'd sat up and shifted away, perhaps the use of the formal title reminding him it was probably inappropriate to get quite this close to the leader of the mages who he'd barely spoken to more than a few times. Fiona let him go even as her heart cried out for him to come back. Because there was nothing wrong with him. Not in her eyes.

“Alistair, don't say that. You're a good man,” Fiona told him, stroking his back in the hope it would help. “I know you don't know me that well, but nothing about you has given me the impression that you're some sort of crazed monster.”

“I hide it well,” Alistair said, glancing up at her and grinning a little. “But underneath this extremely good-looking exterior lurks a terrible human being who wants to haul Madanach away and do awful things to him.”

Frankly, Fiona frequently got urges to fling either lightning bolts or heavy objects in Madanach's direction herself, but why would that bother Alistair this much? Surely everyone had moments of wanting to hit Madanach – he cheerfully admitted himself that there was no one he couldn't needle into a violent rage given time.

Except she'd also seen him being a kind and caring parent to little Maia, and it also occurred to him someone else had been on the receiving end of Madanach's well-hidden nurturing side. It had been Madanach who'd found him in Alexius's dungeons, it had been Madanach who'd told Fiona Alistair needed help, Madanach who'd sent him here, Madanach who'd clearly been spending a lot of time looking after and caring for her son, and going out of his way not to upset him.

“Oh,” she gasped as it dawned on her there was a whole other world of other bad things a man might do to another. “Oh! What, really? You want to… to him? I didn't know you were… that he was your type.”

“Nor did I,” Alistair laughed bitterly. “All my life I've preferred women. My love life's been a complete failure but I never really met any man who did it for me, not really. I mean, there was one, but he made it pretty clear he wasn't interested and we weren't going to mention it again, so I never did… And I _thought_ I fancied Elisif. I mean, I do, have you seen her, she's gorgeous! But… I can't stop thinking about doing things to her husband, and it'll hurt him and she'll kill me, and I would deserve it, because it's wrong to do things like that to someone, especially a dear friend who's been sweet and kind and wonderful and who you love dearly. I'm scared and confused and I can't deal with any of it, and I want it all to go away and just STOP.”

Alistair did stop then, breathing heavily and getting himself under control again, and Fiona felt simultaneously sad for Alistair and yet relieved that this wasn't the worst it could be, and quite honestly, realising you were attracted to someone who was a gender you hadn't thought you fancied would shake up anyone. Especially if they were married. To someone you also had feelings for.

It was all rather complicated, and Fiona was fairly certain she did not want her son getting caught up in noble politics and ending up as a kept paramour to the Herald or her husband. But she couldn't really tell him that. All she could do was look after him.

“It's going to be all right,” Fiona whispered, rubbing his back. “It all sounds complicated and confusing, but there is nothing wrong with finding a man attractive, or a woman, or both or other combinations. There is nothing wrong with _you,_ da'len. You cannot help how you feel. If either one was single, perhaps something could happen. I might even encourage you. As it is… child, I think you are going to be disappointed. They have each other. I am sorry.”

“I know,” Alistair said, staring at the ground. “But thank you. You… you don't think I'm a bad person?”

“No, not at all,” Fiona said tenderly, and Alistair did look up at her then, smiling gratefully, and Fiona wasn't entirely prepared for the emotions that hit her, because he looked just like Maric, and he looked handsome and adorable and he was her son. Her baby, who'd once beamed at her whenever he woke up and squealed at illusion spells and babbled along to elven lullabies. Hard to reconcile that with the grown man before her, but she could see traces of that baby still.

“Thank you,” Alistair said, sounding truly relieved. “Really, thank you. For putting up with some over-emotional half-crazed lunatic turn up in the middle of the night and ramble on about his personal problems at you. You barely know me and you in no way had to put up with my babbling, but I'm glad you did. Look, I don't want to impose, but I don't think I can sleep in the cabin next to theirs any more and I don't have anywhere else to go… er, have you got anywhere I can bed down in? It doesn't need to be anything fancy, I spent most of the Blight slogging round Ferelden and sleeping in a tent, I'm used to roughing it. I'm no trouble, I promise. You'll barely know I'm here.”

“I will find you somewhere,” Fiona promised. “It'll be a little basic, but you'll have what you need. Stay as long as you like. I'd love to have you here.”

This was a terrible mistake and something she was certainly going to regret, but she couldn't just leave him. He clearly needed help, and she owed him that at least. She couldn't tell him everything, but she could take care of him as best she could.

“Thank you, Grand Enchanter,” Alistair repeated, seeming a bit surprised at her actually wanting him around, and Fiona suddenly felt annoyed at the idea of someone she'd once held in her arms and changed the nappies of being that formal with her.

“Call me Fiona,” Fiona said impulsively. He was in no state to have a distraught elf wailing all over him and dropping the revelation he was elf-blooded on him, not now, maybe not ever. Let him live free of the weight of a mixed blooded legacy. He'd suffered enough. But damned if she couldn't be a little closer than just the Grand Enchanter.

“Fiona?? Are – are you sure?” Alistair said, surprised, and Fiona's breath caught in her throat again as she realised that little line in his forehead was one she shared, and that his eyes were faintly reflective – not like hers were but more than a human's would normally be. And human features were normally stronger – his were delicately sculpted and beautiful, simply beautiful. Her legacy was there, if you had eyes to see. Subtle signs of elf-blood that a human might miss, but to an elf were all too obvious. Maybe he would never know, but she knew and she would not let him go uncared for.

Fiona nodded.

“Of course,” she said quietly. “From one ex-Warden to another. We both know what it means to keep the world safe from the Blight. And you even fought in one!”

“Yeah,” Alistair said, face darkening. “Didn't get to finish it though. I suppose you heard how Alistair the Idiot walked out in a fit of pique and missed the grand climax?”

Fiona had not really heard much of the details, despite listening out desperately as news of a Blight that was savaging Ferelden had reached her in Cumberland, only that there'd been a disagreement and he'd left. She'd tried to find out more but all she could discover was that Warden Alistair seemed to have disappeared after the Landsmeet. Maybe he'd lost his chance at being a hero, but at least he'd survived. She reached out and took his hand, wanting to comfort him.

“You had your reasons, I am sure,” she told him. “Alistair, my boy, you fought in a Blight and did not falter. What you did saved lives. You're a hero as far as I'm concerned. Everyone who fights in a Blight is worthy of respect.”

Alistair looked away, blushing and whispering his thanks, and Fiona realised this was going to be harder than she'd thought. _He can't know. He mustn't know. He'd never understand._

And yet here she was, unable to let him go. She let go of his hand and shifted away before things got out of hand.

“I should fetch you some bedding, let you sleep,” Fiona said, preparing to leave… and then Alistair swore under his breath and reached out to stop her.

“Wait. Fiona.”

“What is it?” she asked. Alistair was looking guilty about something, and she realised what as soon as he handed over what was left of her amulet.

“I broke it,” he admitted. “One of the Avvars shot me and it broke. I'm so sorry. It was expensive, wasn't it? Oh god, it's probably irreplaceable, isn't it? Made of some rare ingredient only available three times a year when Satina's waning or something. Maker, you're going to throw me out or kill me yourself for this, aren't you – eh?”

Fiona froze still, overwhelmed by her own memories of being far in the Deep Roads, the Calling ringing in her own ears and feeling constantly sick with terror and betrayal because she'd not even been a Warden five years, she shouldn't be hearing this already!

Alistair going through the same thing broke her heart.

“Hang the amulet, it was cheap rubbish anyway but it was all we had,” Fiona said softly. “Alistair, you should have come to me first! The enchantment is a simple one. Do you have anything we can put it on? Something unenchanted.”

Alistair reached into his pocket, looking a bit hesitant before shrugging and opening his hand to reveal an Andrastian amulet of the eternal flame, looking like it had once been shattered but repaired. An amulet Fiona recognised instantly, because it had once been hers… but she'd left it with her baby son so he'd have something from her. And he still had it. He'd still looked after it all this time.

“It was my mother's,” Alistair said, quite unnecessarily although he wasn't to know. “It's all I have of hers. I don't know what she thought of magic but I don't think she'd mind if she knew it was to help protect me. You won't damage it, will you?”

They'd told him nothing. He had no idea about his mother but he'd still thought about her. Still treasured the idea of her. It was all Fiona could do not to take him in her arms again and whisper that he didn't have to cling to a ghost any more. But she didn't think he was ready to hear it and likely never would be. She certainly wasn't ready to say it.

“I won't,” Fiona managed to say, hand shaking as she tucked it away. “And I don't think she'd mind at all. She'd want you to be safe and happy, I think.”

“I hope so,” Alistair sighed. “They tell me she lived long enough to name me and died hours after I was born. She was only a serving maid. Not well-educated or anything. Just ordinary. I don't know what she'd think of the life I've had. I don't even know what she looked like. I suppose she must have been pretty, but I don't know.” He noticed her staring at him, and what she must look like, she had no idea, but it clearly had an effect because he laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck again. “Ah, but you don't want to listen to me ramble all night, or what's left of it, do you? I should turn in.”

“Yes,” Fiona whispered, fighting with all her heart the longing to just tell him everything, tell him she could fill that mother-shaped hole in his mind, only the certain knowledge it would be a disaster holding her back. “That might be a good idea. I'll get someone to sort a bed out for you, and get this to the Formari. Don't worry, they'll be careful with it.”

“Thank you,” Alistair said, looking relieved. Fiona hesitated, wondering if she should say more, before deciding to the Fade with it, he needed to hear something. His mother loved him and his mother was proud of him, and he needed to hear that, she knew. She just wished she could say it directly. But she was Orlesian, and Orlesians were adept at saying things without saying them.

“Oh, and Alistair,” Fiona said, hoping the emotion in her voice wasn't too obvious. “I am sure your mother would be proud of you. She should be, anyway. I know you've made mistakes… but there is still so much to be proud of. I hope you can see that – if not now, one day.”

“That's… er, thank you,” Alistair said, sounding utterly bewildered… but pleased. The blush on his cheeks was just visible in the half-light. “That's really nice of you, but you don't have to say things like that. You barely know me.”

“I know enough,” Fiona said, tremor in her voice. “Go on, rest. I'll have Lysas sort your bedding out.”

With that, Fiona excused herself, wanting to get out of there before emotion really did get the better of her. Any longer talking to him, and she just knew her resolve would crumble. Damn Madanach, it was almost like he planned this. But despite that, she couldn't bring herself to be too angry. Her son was here. Her _son_ was here. And he was strong and handsome and skilled and bright and funny, and she was so, so fiercely proud of him. 

Maybe she couldn't be a mother to him. Maybe she'd have to keep some distance. But by Andraste, he was her boy, and whatever he needed, whatever dangers he faced, she'd be there to protect him, no matter what.

Enchanter-General Madanach might just regret sending him here. But that was a discussion that could wait until the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Two days, and nothing. No news. No sign of anything from Haven. Elisif wasn't back yet and Madanach didn't seem to be reacting or anything. Maybe that was a good thing, but damn it if the wait wasn't killing him.

At least he wasn't actively panicking, fretting, freaking out or looking for creative ways to end the pain. Fiona hadn't really said anything more since that night, but she'd made a point of stopping by to make sure he was all right, make sure he was eating, make a bit of small talk and generally mother him a bit. Which was nice of her. Unwarranted, but nice of her. Alistair just hoped she didn't fancy him as well, because his love life was complicated enough as it is. And thankfully, Fiona wasn't the only person over here being nice to him. Blackwall had been up the day before, and Bethany was turning out to be surprisingly good company. Useful in other ways too… or at least that's what he'd hoped. Alas, as in so many other things, he was to be disappointed.

“Sorry, Alistair,” Bethany said apologetically. “No news. Madanach's just keeping a low profile. I stopped by to talk for a bit, but he didn't really want to. I told him you were here though. He seemed pleased about that.”

“Is he… all right?” Alistair whispered. He had his own tent now, next door to Fiona's, and while the mages were a bit suspicious, they weren't hostile at least. And Bethany had been going out of her way to be nice to him. Well, he had helped sort out her love life, that had to count for something, right? Sadly, it would take more than Bethany Hawke's assistance to sort his out. But he could at least get information off her. “I mean, he's… he's OK?”

“He asked me the same question,” Bethany said, smiling. “Why you two can't just talk to each other, I don't know. You're both worried about the other. Can't you just tell him what's up?”

“No!” Alistair cried. “I'm not… look, it's embarrassing. He'd hate me. He'll hate me even more if he ever finds out I fancy his wife too… oh balls.”

Bethany's eyes shot up, her cheeks stained pink, and then she burst out laughing.

“It isn't funny!” Alistair cried, mortified. Bethany just laughed harder, seeming to find this hilarious.

“BOTH of them??” Bethany laughed, wiping tears from her eyes. “Maker, Alistair, what have you done?? Madanach AND Elisif? You don't make it easy, do you? Is this why you're here now? Madanach found out and turned you down?”

“No!” Alistair protested, starting to wish he'd never asked her for help in the first place. “Maker, Bethany, please. They don't know. Neither of them know. I'd really like to keep it that way, because this is embarrassing enough as it is. If either of them knew, I would literally have to flee Haven, run into the Deep Roads, find the biggest hole I could and fling myself into it so as not to have to deal with the shame.”

Bethany just giggled, and this really wasn't helping. Not at all. Alistair tried to recall what he'd heard about the Hawke family. Trouble, the lot of them, the story went. He could believe it.

“Oh, you're not the worst I've ever met,” Bethany said cheerfully. “Marian is far, far worse. You just fancied someone married, fancied their husband as well, didn't deal with it very well and now you're embarrassed. Marian got together with an apostate who blew up half a city and she's not even ashamed.”

Alistair could really live without that particular comparison.

“This is the _Herald of Andraste,_ Bethany,” Alistair cried. “She's a hero, a leader, an inspiration to everyone, and here am I thinking about her _and her husband_ and wanting to… Maker's Breath. This is a bit more than a romantic embarrassment, this is verging on sacrilege, and it's definitely adultery, and we all know how well this sort of thing turned out last time!”

“You're hardly the Maker, Alistair,” Bethany said, cracking a smile at that idea.

“No, I'm mortal and therefore very easy for either of them to come and murder,” Alistair sighed. “Hence me being here in the mage camp hiding behind Fiona. But thank you for checking up on him. I was worried.”

“Well, I can get Leliana to keep an eye on things as well,” Bethany promised. “But honestly, he seemed OK. Just a bit down.”

And then both were distracted by someone squealing his name. A five year old someone with red hair streaming out behind her as she sprinted over the snow.

“ALISTAAAAIIIRRRR!!!!!”

Maia ran up to him and flung herself on to him, almost knocking him over from the impact. Alistair managed to stabilise himself with one arm while catching her with the other, holding the little five year old to his chest while she cuddled him fiercely.

“You went away!” Maia cried. “You were in our house but you went away in the middle of the night and left us! Why are you living here now?? You need to come back!”

Bethany was looking at him like this was his problem, and clearly her father hadn't told her much, or she wouldn't be asking him. But how did you explain to a little girl that you couldn't be near her parents any more because you'd monumentally screwed up and were a danger to all concerned?

Very very carefully, that was how.

“I'm sorry, little one,” he murmured. “I miss you too. But I can't live in Haven any more. I… I said something I shouldn't to your dad, and now it's best for everyone if I'm not there.”

Maia's little fist promptly hit his chest as she glared up at him, the spitting image of her father.

“No it isn't!” Maia snapped. “Daddy's sad! And he said you had to go away but he wouldn't say why either. No one will tell me anything because I'm too little, and everyone is sad, and I miss you and how are you supposed to be my bodyguard if you're all the way out here??”

Maia's voice had risen as she'd cried, a five year old's frustrations building and on the last word, flames suddenly started breaking out as the tent flap caught fire.

Alistair didn't even think about it, Templar training kicking in and magic-dowsing abilities flaring and the fire, mercifully, went out, leaving just smoke and a charred tent flap and one shocked five year old staring at him.

“You put my magic out!” Maia whispered, heartbroken.

“Yes,” Alistair admitted, realising that he might just have made things that bit worse, and that using Templar abilities on the little girl with a fear of Templars might have just put her off him for life. “Er. Sorry. Only you'd set fire to my tent. Um. Oh no, please don't cry?”

Maia had had two days of Alistair gone and her father sad, and no one telling her anything, and this was the last straw. Maia promptly burst into tears, howling her grief out to the world, and about the only saving grace was that at least Maia was letting him cuddle her still, perching in his lap and wailing into his coat.

Unfortunately, she'd not come alone. Unfortunately, a parent had brought her, a parent who had a meeting with the Grand Enchanter… and a parent who'd recognise his daughter's heartbroken cries anywhere.

Madanach was approaching, dressed in a fur-lined kilt and fur-lined parka, axe at his waist, taking in the scene before him and staring at Alistair with no trace of emotion on his face, staring for one uncomfortable second, before ignoring Alistair and kneeling down next to him to comfort Maia instead.

“Ventu mi, inyeen,” he said quietly to her, lapsing into Tamrielic, and Maia left Alistair's arms and ran to her father's, clinging to his coat and sobbing incoherently, lapsing into her native tongue herself and clearly complaining about why her bodyguard had been banished to the mage camp and that he'd just nixed her magic as well.

Madanach didn't even meet Alistair's eyes, holding Maia in his arms and quietly talking to her as he cuddled her, and while Alistair didn't understand the words, he heard the tone behind it and it was kind, fatherly, tender and it worked on Maia, who slowly dried her eyes and whispered a heartfelt question to her father.

“I can't promise anything, cariad, it isn't my decision,” Madanach said, sitting back on his heels and letting her go. “But I will talk to Alistair and ask him if he'll consider moving back. That I can promise.” He looked up and stared straight into Alistair's eyes, not smiling but not angry either. Just… saddened, and Alistair felt his throat go dry as he stared back at Madanach and wanted very badly to cuddle him back and have some kind, fatherly words murmured in his ear.

And then his brain had to ruin everything by helpfully providing images of kissing Madanach, rolling him on to his back, pinning him to the snow and rutting up against him while Madanach cried out his name, and Alistair gasped and shuffled back, knowing he was blushing again.

_Maker, Madanach, I'm going to end up hurting you, RUN, you fool!_

Madanach's eyes had widened in alarm and he reached out a hand, and Alistair's panic got even worse.

And then a shadow fell over them and Alistair looked up to see Grand Enchanter Fiona herself standing over them, arms folded and staring Madanach down, radiating fury.

“Alistair is here under my protection, Madanach,” Fiona said coldly. “You will not harm him. Step away from the boy, he's clearly upset.”

Madanach sighed, withdrew, gritted his teeth and turned to meet Fiona's gaze.

“Give me some credit for not hurting him in front of Maia?” Madanach growled. “I'm just here to talk, Fiona. Believe it or not, I was worried about him.”

Fiona glanced over at Bethany for a second opinion.

“What do you think, Bethany, should I allow this?” Fiona asked. And Bethany looked Madanach over, then Alistair, and then she actually grinned.

“They'll be fine. We should give them a bit of privacy, but they do need to talk.”

Fiona nodded and then turned to Alistair, who was staring at Bethany in shocked betrayal.

“Are you willing to talk to him? You know you don't have to. I can have him removed.”

Alistair needed Madanach to be as far away as possible for all their sakes. But Bethany was grinning at him, and Maia was looking hopefully at him, and Madanach… well, he was just staring wistfully at him, and Alistair couldn't bring himself to send him away entirely.

“I'll talk to him,” Alistair said quietly, thinking that Madanach at least was owed an explanation. “As long as we can have privacy. That includes Maia being out of earshot.”

“I can agree to that,” Madanach purred, finally smiling as he handed Maia over to Bethany to keep away for a bit. Fiona, after a little bit of persuasion, eventually also agreed to back off to a safe distance, sitting down at her desk in the command tent just within Alistair's line of vision, although out of earshot. Which was oddly comforting, knowing the Grand Enchanter genuinely did have his back.

It did however leave him glancing apprehensively at Madanach, who'd gone awfully quiet… and was still kneeling in the snow, Maker that could not be good for him.

Alistair retrieved a pelt for him to sit on, which Madanach accepted with a relieved smile.

“Thank you, my friend, that's very kind of you,” Madanach told him, making himself comfortable before turning concerned eyes on Alistair. “Are you all right? You seemed… agitated the other night. Alistair, I swear, I would no more have harmed you than Maia. And Elisif would not have minded you staying at our house if you were in need. She knew the Calling was affecting you, she'd understand.”

“That's not the...” Alistair put his head in his hands, not sure how to even begin explaining this one. “Maker, Madanach. I couldn't have stayed. I'm not sure what's happening to me, but I do know I'm extremely messed up, probably not well, I've got the Calling killing me from within and I'm likely to ruin everything I touch. Also I could really use a drink and someone's hidden the entire mage camp's alcohol supply while I was asleep. Madanach, I'm sorry, I'm just not safe to be around, especially not for you.”

Madanach was not running, in fact Madanach was edging nearer, and then Alistair felt fingertips on his cheek and a calming spell flared, his anxiety fading at Madanach's touch.

“Is that better,” Madanach said gently, thumb rubbing Alistair's cheek. It took all Alistair's resistance not to lean into the touch. Once a Templar, always a Templar, and even a calming spell could only treat the anxiety. It didn't touch Alistair's mental walls. It just meant a general was peering out from inside the fortress, not a terrified man having a nervous breakdown.

“Not really,” Alistair admitted, eyes opening as he stared back at Madanach, wondering if he knew what he'd just done. “Madanach, you're putting yourself in danger just being around me.”

“How so,” Madanach purred, not actually seeming that bothered, in fact he was even smiling. 

“Because I keep wanting to hurt you,” Alistair said, breathing rapidly as he finally admitted it. “You've been so sweet and so kind, and how do I repay you? I keep wanting to… to do things to you. Bad things.”

“Bad things?” Madanach purred, one corner of his mouth twisting up in a grin. “Do tell me more.”

All right, this was far enough, Alistair was having no more of this. This had to stop now. Madanach either hadn't properly understood him or thought he was joking or possibly both.

“Madanach, take this seriously, would you?” Alistair snapped at him. “You're in mortal danger. Well, in danger of being hurt and humiliated anyway. STOP laughing.”

Madanach hadn't stopped grinning throughout, smiling up at Alistair, and what more did he have to do to convince him he was serious, pounce on him and show him?

Part of him thought that was a very good idea, even though the man's little girl wasn't so very far away, watching this intently, and Alistair hastily shifted back inside the tent, out of her line of vision.

“Madanach, please,” Alistair whispered. “Will you please just take me at my word and leave? You are going to get hurt!”

Madanach's smile had faded a little, as he regarded him coolly, and then his next words changed everything.

“Maybe I want to be.”

“What?” Alistair whispered, not sure he'd heard that right. “You can't possibly...”

“Maybe I want you to hurt me,” Madanach said, lowering his voice and moving to sit right next to Alistair, his intent unmistakeable. This was a lover's pose or nothing was. “Maybe I've been having frenetic fantasies involving you forcing me to my knees and sucking you off. Maybe I want you to tie me down and fuck me. Maybe I had this exact same conversation with Elisif years ago. And maybe I can see the same desires in your eyes I could see in hers.”

Alistair no longer had the ability to form coherent sentences, his blood draining south and pooling there, his cock hard and wanting very badly for Madanach to get his hands and other things onto it, and his brain apparently not functioning at all. Alistair began to realise he'd misread the situation entirely, and he might be about to pay the price. They both might.

“Madanach, I don't understand,” Alistair whispered, inching away because if he didn't get away _now,_ something very very bad was going to happen.

“No?” Madanach purred, and mercifully he didn't move any closer, just crouching in the entrance of Alistair's tent and watching gleefully as Alistair backed away into his bedding. “Then let me explain it to you. Apparently a side effect of dragon blood is the urge to control and dominate. Dragonborns will often get urges to pounce on their partners and really fucking claim them. Elisif had the same problem, I did not see a downside to this and so I married her. That you're getting the same urges with me is, frankly, adorable, and I don't see a downside to that either.”

“What?” Alistair whispered again, taking refuge in confusion because that meant he could avoid looking at the truth of the situation and ignore the fact that certain fairly key assumptions he'd had about himself, Madanach, Elisif, the world in general, were falling apart. 

“Means whatever you keep thinking you want to do to me, I probably won't mind,” Madanach said, still with that pleased, predatory smile on his face. Alistair hadn't seen it on him before, but from the way Madanach held himself, Alistair had a feeling this, this was the real Madanach, and the version he'd seen before was… not fake, but very carefully presented.

Alistair came to the uncomfortable realisation that he didn't know Madanach anything like as well as he thought and he didn't know a damn thing about Tamrielic culture, and both of these things were about to bite him in the backside. Quite possibly more literally than he'd thought.

“Elisif'll mind!” Alistair managed to get out, thinking adultery was regarded the same way everywhere, right? “She can breathe fire, Madanach! I saw her FREEZE A MAN SOLID with the Thu'um. She's scary! And terrifying. And dangerous. Beautifully dangerous. But dangerous. And frightening. In a good way. But also in a bad way, if she finds me _in bed with her husband._ ”

“Not necessarily,” Madanach purred, and Alistair could just feel his brain shutting down, refusing to entertain any more of this because this sort of thing just did not happen. Not to people like him. Married couples married each other and stayed together, with just the two of them, happily ever after, hopefully. Or possibly if the marriage had been a business arrangement, with both parties free to pursue lovers on the side. But they did not, absolutely did not, marry from love and then start inviting people into their bed. They just didn't. Which meant Madanach could not possibly be propositioning him on Elisif's behalf as well as his own. Which meant Alistair could pretend it wasn't happening and retreat into happy denial.

“I'm not taking your word for that!” Alistair said firmly. “I want confirmation from Elisif personally.” Which would not be forthcoming, not under any circumstances, and then Elisif could deal with the unfaithful husband who liked men.

Madanach's smile actually widened, and it occurred to Alistair that wasn't as certain a thing as he'd thought either.

“A fair point,” Madanach laughed. “Does that mean you'd say yes if she agreed to it all?”

“Which she won't,” Alistair pointed out. She definitely wouldn't. Would she?? Madanach just smiled.

“Well, she's not here, so we'll all just have to wait until she gets back, won't we?” Madanach said, sounding far too cheerful for Alistair's liking. “In the meantime, we can all relax and be friends, can't we? Maia missed you, you know. She loved you anyway, then she was all excited at the thought of another Dragonborn to talk to, and then you went away! She's heartbroken, Alistair.”

Madanach was shaking his head as he spoke, and Alistair really wished there wasn't a little girl mixed up in all this, because Maia was a cute little thing who deserved none of this.

“Is she all right?” Alistair whispered. “I didn't want to hurt her, you know.”

“She's not happy but she'll cope,” Madanach told him, reaching into his belt-pouch and producing a scrap of paper. “But you need to make it up to her. So I'll bring her over here regularly and she can see you during the day and I'll collect her in the afternoon, yes? As for what you'll be doing, she was keen to spend time with another Dragonborn, so I told her she could perhaps teach you more Shouts. Like this one. I wrote it out for her, but Maia assures me the words are fine. I think it's pronounced Feim Zii Gron?”

Alistair took the parchment off him and saw three more words, each with the stylised dot and line pattern above them, Madanach's handwriting this time but definitely a Thu'um. Feim Zii Gron. Something to do with the Fade? Binding a spirit?

“It'll make you temporarily ethereal, like a spirit, and immune to being injured,” Madanach continued. “Don't worry, it wears off and you're back to normal after. Maia knows it well, it's one we've trained her to use in a fight so she can get away in safety. She's very keen to help you with it. We – well, I – thought you should try one that won't hurt anyone.”

Alistair didn't know what to say. He'd got up this morning afraid of what he might do, afraid of the monster within… and it turned out Madanach was just fine with it. Which was as weird and bizarre as a version of the Chant where Maferath waved Andraste off to liaisons with the Maker with a kiss and a smile, or where the Maker had decided to take Maferath as a Bridegroom as well.

Alistair didn't know where they all went from here, but he did know he missed them. All three of them. Damn them all, was there a way of getting looked after and finding out about this Dragonborn business without having to risk jealous rages and eternal damnation? Maybe not, but at least he'd got himself a few days grace from thinking about it all. 

“Thank you,” Alistair whispered. “I mean, you don't have to – but thank you.”

Madanach smiled again, the predatory look vanishing as he patted Alistair's shoulder then gently touched his cheek. And then he leaned forward and his lips met Alistair's, just once, just briefly, barely giving Alistair a chance to respond before letting him go and withdrawing.  
That was probably for the best, because no one had kissed Alistair in a very long time, and certainly not like that. Despite Madanach's claims of being a terrible human being, that kiss had not been one of lust or of claiming. It had been one born of gentleness and affection and love. Alistair still didn't know what was going on, but hardly anyone had shown him any of that in years.

Madanach had let him go and gone to find Maia, retrieving her from Bethany and bringing her back. She seemed to have forgotten her early tears, running over with Frogella clutched in her hands and beaming up at him.

“Daddy, Daddy, is Alistair coming back to live with us??” Maia cried, bouncing up and down… until a small shake of her father's head had her face falling.

“But why?” Maia wailed, distraught. “I miss him!”

“I know, so do I, but he needs some space, Maia bach,” Madanach explained, kneeling down to console her. “And sometimes when you love someone, you have to give them what they need even when you don't like it. But that might change a little after your mother comes back, and we agreed you can spend today with him, and I'll bring you up here every day if you like.”

Maia pouted, not really understanding any of this at all, but she could tell her father was not to be argued with on this one.

“You'll bring me _every_ day?” Maia said, frowning. Madanach smiled and ran a hand over her hear.

“Every day,” he promised and Maia brightened up. She cheered up even more when Madanach told her Alistair had a Shout he needed to learn, and maybe she could help. Before Alistair knew it, Madanach had disappeared off for his one to one with Fiona which would be followed by a MageGuard operations meeting and then paperwork for the rest of the afternoon, and all in all, he'd be gone for a while.

Leaving Alistair with one little five year old Dragonborn staring up at him, brimming with excitement. It made a change from her father distracting him with inappropriate suggestions anyway.

“So… becoming ethereal then?” Alistair said nervously. “Does it, er, hurt?”

Maia shook her head and took a deep breath.

“FEIM ZII GRON!”

And Maia promptly flickered out of physical existence, a glowing ethereal figure where a child had been.

“No, it doesn't hurt,” Maia said cheerfully. “You feel light as anything and you could float! Except you can't, not really, because you still fall down if you jump off something. But it doesn't hurt when you land! Only I'm not allowed to jump off roofs any more.”

What. Just… what? You could jump off roofs with this and not die?

That was terrifying.

And amazing.

Although if Maia could not take a leap off the Chantry roof while he was the adult in charge, he'd really appreciate it.

Maia flickered back into solidity, still smiling and heedless of various mages staring at her in disbelief, including Bethany.

“Did she just go half in, half out of the Fade?” Bethany gasped as she made her way over.

“Yes. No. Sort of. I don't know how it works?” Alistair said, shrugging. “But I'm going to learn how too.”

“You're not even a mage,” Bethany pointed out.

“No,” Alistair purred. “I'm a _Dragonborn._ Er… apparently.”

Bethany just rolled her eyes and shook her head. 

“The things people come up with… all right, Dragonborn. Let's go somewhere a little more private and see if you can actually do some voice magic. You know, I swear, for an ex-Templar, you aren't half magey.”

“Magey??” Alistair asked, and he glanced back at the tent where Bethany was looking pointedly at his collection of runestones, statuettes and assorted glowing shiny trinkets. “Look, I didn't make them!”

“No, but you're drawn to enchanted things like a magpie, Alistair,” Bethany sighed. “And you're _always_ asking questions about how spells work. And you're not afraid of it.”

“You spend a year camping with Lyra Surana, you get a tolerance for these things!” Alistair protested. “She got me half of that stuff!”

“She didn't give you the voice magic gift though, did she,” Bethany pointed out as they followed an excited and chattering Maia through the camp to the outskirts. “Are you sure you're not mage-blooded?”

“No!” Alistair sighed. “Look, mother was a servant, and father was… well, if there were mages in the Theirin dynasty they kept it quiet. No mage blood for me. Just dragon blood apparently.”

“That remains to be seen,” Bethany said tartly. It seemed she still didn't believe him. Which was a bit sad, but it just made Alistair all the more determined. 

Maybe his love life was a disaster. Maybe he'd fallen in love with the wrong woman, and maybe Madanach was make him feel things, weird things, strange and complicated feelings centring on the urge to hold him and fuss over him and then make him do weird and depraved sex things. But he had this voice magic. And he had a little girl who seemed to pick it up like breathing. 

Alistair Theirin was going to learn this stuff if it killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Elisif's back! And everything basically falls apart a bit.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elisif's back and her return prompts Alistair to finally make a decision... but it may be one he'll live to regret. Meanwhile Fiona's making decisions of her own... and she might live to regret these as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the second half, in which we bring this whole thing to a conclusion... for now.

Learning this stuff was going to kill him. He was exhausted. They'd tried meditating. Practising. Maia bouncing up and down and exhorting him to 'feel the Thu'um within yourself, Alistair!' 

Well, he couldn't feel the Thu'um within himself, and this particular Thu'um felt wrong anyway. Felt like a coward's way out. Felt like he was running away. He didn't want to fade into the Fade. He wanted to be there, present, people around him, people noticing him, people pleased to see him. Not be some bloodless spirit.

So they'd called it a day after Alistair had snapped at Maia, immediately regretted it and had to spend the next ten minutes reassuring and consoling her, and telling her no it wasn't her fault, he clearly just wasn't very good at this sort of thing, and Maia had eventually stopped sniffling and forgiven him and he'd got her to tell him and Bethany stories of Tamriel, and now he had the beginnings of a collection of Tamrielic children's stories.

Not that he would likely ever have his own kids to tell them to. But that was a depressing thought so he pushed it away, managed to remain calm and not fling his arms around Madanach when he came to collect Maia. Because that would just end terribly, even if Madanach was grinning knowingly and waving goodbye in a way that was practically coquettish.

But he didn't. And now he was back in the camp, having dinner in the Grand Enchanter's tent, feeling pensive about the whole thing. And Fiona was not helping. 

“You've barely touched your stew, Alistair,” Fiona scolded. “It'll go cold. And we don't have so much food we can afford to waste it. Alistair, are you listening to me??”

He was truly trying not to by this point.

“Yes Mother,” Alistair sighed, rolling his eyes and barely noticing the way Fiona flinched. “Honestly, I'm just not hungry. You lot can reheat it and feed it to someone else, right? Bet one of the kids'll go for seconds.”

Fiona huffed and shook her head, clearly despairing.

“Is it to do with Madanach?” Fiona said quietly, correctly guessing the source of his worries, damn her. “Did he say something to upset you?”

“Yes. No. I don't know!” Alistair sighed, wondering if he should say anything and then deciding bugger it, she was an adult, and a worldly-wise and experienced one at that, and besides she had asked. “Grand Enchanter. Er, Fiona. This is probably going to sound weird.”

“Weird.” Fiona had put down her own plate, picked clean because once you'd been poor or hungry, you never left a decent meal untouched again. “Weird how? Alistair, I am Grand Enchanter of the Free Mages and a former Warden. I've seen a lot of weird things in my time.”

“I bet,” Alistair said, shooting her a grin and noting with some surprise that she looked away at that, a sudden sadness in her eyes as if he reminded her of some unhappy memory. But it was only for a moment, and then she'd briefly smiled and turned her attention back to him. He'd looked just like Maric in that moment, but he wasn't to know that.

“Go on,” Fiona said gently. “Tell me.”

“I told him how I felt and… he liked the idea,” Alistair said, putting his fork down because his appetite was truly gone. “Fiona, he wasn't supposed to like the idea! He was supposed to run away in disgust so I wouldn't have to face him any more! He wasn't supposed to be _pleased!_ ”

Fiona put down her fork, feeling dizzy and faint and her heart skipping, because she knew Orlesian nobles and she knew they married for politics not love, and she knew they had their own affairs on the side, and while sometimes these might be akin to genuine love affairs and the other party be installed as an official mistress or paramour, others were little better than glorified sex slavery. And unless the affair was between two nobles, one party always held the power in the relationship. Fiona knew this firsthand, and while Madanach and Elisif were not Orlesian and had married for love as well as politics, she couldn't bear to think of Alistair being the pet sex toy for either of them.

“What did you say?” Fiona gasped. “You didn't say yes to him, did you??”

“No!” Alistair cried. “I mean, not exactly? I told him Elisif would never let this happen and I was doing nothing unless she turned up to say it was OK in person. And… Fiona, what if she says yes?? I thought she'd fly into a jealous rage and kill me, but Madanach seemed to think she'd agree?!”

Fiona didn't blame Alistair for being nervous about this, because honestly this was dangerous territory. Alistair deserved better than this. He deserved a nice girl, far away from the halls of power, someone who could love him for him and not get embroiled in politics. It had been her fondest wish for him to have a normal life.

The Maker apparently had other ideas, and it was breaking her heart.

“You will not know until she returns and you speak to her,” Fiona said, taking his hand. “And even if she does appear to be in favour, you do not have to say yes. If you said no, no one would fault you. Elisif is the reasonable type, she will understand that this is… unusual. Well, maybe over there it is a commonplace enough arrangement but over here, the Chantry's teachings on marriage have always been that it is a one-on-one partnership so we can raise our children in a safe and secure environment and find happiness in domestic life. I'm not the most devout of Andrastians, but even I would find it hard to accept being an accessory to someone else's marriage.”

“So would I,” Alistair said pensively. “But… damn it! Why can't they just develop some flaws or something?? Why does Elisif have to be so terrifyingly pretty and amazing, and why does Madanach have to be so nice to cuddle and… damn.”

Alistair must be in the grip of some pretty strong feelings to think Madanach didn't have any flaws, even if Elisif's heroic reputation was largely deserved.

“Alistair,” Fiona told him gently. “They have each other. You should let it go. You don't need any more heartache in your life.” Perhaps he wouldn't be the helpless child slave she'd been. But all the same, she could not find it in her to approve of this.

“This is going to go horribly wrong, isn't it,” Alistair said softly. “No matter what I decide. Mara help me.”

“Mara?” Fiona hadn't heard the name but she recognised a deity invocation when she heard it. “Is that… one of their gods?”

“Tamrielic goddess of love and compassion,” Alistair admitted. “I… find her prayers helpful. Maker knows I need all the help I can get. And Mara probably knows more about unconventional romances. Or unfortunate ones. Or both.”

Fiona didn't know what to say about that, but given half the elves among the free mages were more or less openly worshipping Auriel by this point, and nearly all the mages whispered tales of Tamriel the mystical overseas fairyland where mages were free, she could hardly blame Alistair for being interested in Tamrielic culture too.

“Well, if it helps you, I will not judge,” Fiona told him. “And no matter what you decide with the other matter… I may not agree, but I will still support your decision. And if you need any help or someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

“Um. Thank you,” Alistair whispered. He was blushing a little, and Fiona remembered Maric and by the Maker, Alistair was so like his father, it hurt to look at him sometimes. And then he glanced up, looking vaguely alarmed.

“Um… Fiona? Er… this is a bit of a stupid question but… you don't fancy me too, do you? Only I'm flattered and everything but you're old enough to be my mum and I'm not sure I exactly feel the same and...”

Maker's mercy. Of course he'd misinterpreted...because he had no idea. Fiona felt her own cheeks heating up as she tried to explain this some other way, but there wasn't much of a convincing explanation for this she could offer other than attraction (dear Maker, no) or the truth (Andraste, not that, never that, he didn't need the shame).

Maybe something close to the truth then.

“Maker, no, child,” Fiona gasped. “I don't see you that way! No, it's… Alistair, I had a son once. He'd be about your age now. I never could keep him. Life in the Wardens doesn't allow for child-rearing and the Circle wouldn't let me keep him. I had to send him to his non-mage father in Ferelden. I never saw him again. But his father was a good man, and you remind me of him, and you don't have a family of your own. It's ridiculous, I know. But humour an old elf who lost her son.”

“You're not that old!” Alistair protested, and that was sweet of him, it really was, but Fiona wasn't getting any younger and she knew it.

“All the same, I'm too old to have more children, and I do not think I'll ever be any kind of mother to the boy I lost,” Fiona said, not able to meet his eyes even though this at least was entirely true. “He doubtless thinks he's entirely human. Let him stay that way, he doesn't need the stain of elf-blood, and mage-blood on top of that.”

“Bloody hell, Fiona, you make it sound like the darkspawn taint,” Alistair said, and the laughter in his voice, the making light of a sad situation despite everything, reminded her so much of poor Maric that for a moment she could hardly breathe.

“The way humans treat us, it might as well be,” Fiona said bitterly, and in all her life, there'd really only ever been one or two exceptions, only a handful of people who'd treated her like a person and not just seen the magic or the ears. Duncan and Maric Theirin chief among them. And the Tamrielic contingent, all of whom had been perfectly friendly and respectful, even if Madanach was a pain in the backside and Cicero was really not all there. And now apparently Alistair. Because he'd got up and had just started hugging her, and now she really was about to cry.

“You poor thing,” Alistair said quietly. “All right, Fiona, if it makes you happy. You mother me all you want. Maker knows I need it.”

Fiona hugged him tight, because he was just like his father, and he was her baby, despite being all grown up, and if this was the closest she could get, she'd take it.

“Fiona,” Alistair said quietly. “Are you sure you don't want to find your son? Because I bet Leliana could track him down. She knows everything. If I talked to her, she'd definitely look for him for you.”

“No!” Fiona gasped, reflexively gripping Alistair tighter, because not only was that a complete waste of time, who knew what Leliana might turn up. An investigation of all her Warden contacts, all her Circle contacts, the discovery King Maric of Ferelden had gone on a journey to the Deep Roads with a Warden party including Fiona approximately nine months before Alistair's birth… no. Fiona couldn't take the risk.

“No,” Fiona whispered. “He is better off not knowing. In Orlais, elf-blood is treated as a curse. I don't think it any better in Ferelden.”

“It isn't,” Alistair admitted. “Not really. Most people don't even think about it day to day, but if they met an elf-blooded human, they'd be suspicious, I think. I mean, I wouldn't care, if it were me. I don't mind elves. Mostly, I don't, anyway. Apart from annoying Antivan assassins who think they're a lot more handsome than they are – all right, that's just the one elf who drove me up the wall. I don't mind the rest of you?”

Men like this should not exist in the world. The world was a cruel and uncaring place and good people were vulnerable. But Maric had been one such, Duncan another, and Alistair had by the grace of Andraste taken after his father and not let the world take his kind heart from him.

“Bless you, young man, you've got a good heart,” Fiona whispered. “I hope you find happiness. I really do.”

“I hope so too,” Alistair said quietly. “Do you think it's the right thing? Saying no? I don't even know what to say to them, if I'm honest.”

Fiona honestly thought no was probably the best answer he could give, but it also wasn't her decision. So she guided him back to his chair, summoned fire to reheat his stew, and his tea for good measure, and patted his back as he started to eat.

“Then sleep on it and think about it in the morning,” Fiona told him, ruffling his hair. “You don't have to do anything until Elisif returns.”

She hoped for his sake he turned them down. Her baby did not need any more complications or hardships in his life. But he seemed to calm down, brightening up as it occurred to him perhaps it might be all right after all.

“Thank you,” he said as he finished his meal. “I'm glad we talked. I'm feeling better now.” He was looking up at Fiona, adorable smile of the angels on his face as he beamed up at her. “You know, you're a good person, Fiona. Whoever your son is, wherever he is, he's the one missing out, you know that, right? And if he thinks less of you for being an elf, then he's unworthy of being related to you.”

Alistair needed to stop this. Alistair needed to stop being such a good person, and to stop reminding her painfully of Maric. Because if he carried on like this, she would end up breaking down and telling him everything, and that would likely destroy them both. It would certainly ruin her.

But her heart was thudding and her pulse was racing and all her deepest instincts were crying out for him. Because the baby she'd given up when he was barely six months old and sobbed over the entire journey back to Weisshaupt had grown up and come back into her life, and everything she'd repressed in the three decades since was rising up and threatening to overwhelm her.

She would resist. She had to. For all their sakes, but for his most of all. And so she smiled and ruffled his hair, and said goodbye with warmth in her heart, and only after he'd headed back to his own tent did Fiona let herself weep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Five days later before Elisif finally returned with tales of epic battles in the Mire, delighted to see her little girl again, and even more so to see her husband… and after dinner, putting her little girl to bed with a bedtime story and then being swept off her feet by a friskier than usual husband who'd missed her, Elisif was amazed but intrigued to hear that extramarital negotiations had been opened with a certain ex-Warden Dragonborn.

“He really said yes?” Elisif said, surprised and a bit annoyed he'd said yes to Madanach before her.

“Not exactly,” Madanach admitted, nuzzling her neck, snuggled up to her in the aftermath of what had been really rather good sex even by their standards. “But I got him to the point where he can at least admit there's something to discuss. He told me there was no way he was getting intimate with me unless he'd had confirmation from you it was all right. Which was a fair point, so I told him you'd see him when you got back.” A pause. “You going to see him tomorrow??”

She'd seen that hopeful look before, and she had a horrible feeling Madanach was going to be very disappointed.

“Darling, you know he was raised by the Chantry, don't you?” Elisif sighed. “And he's got a lot of deep-seated emotional issues. He thinks he's dying!”

“All the more reason to seize happiness while he still can!” Madanach pointed out, grinning up at her. “You should tell him that! And then bring him back here so he can seize us!”

“Madanach!” Elisif sighed. “Look, all right, I will talk to him and let him know this is definitely a joint proposition, not you attempting to cheat on me. But if he says no, we leave it, all right?”

Madanach pouted but he did agree that they would let it lie if Alistair said no.

And so it was that the following morning, Elisif gathered her things, dropped Maia off for some magic lessons with Bethany and the mage kids, and went in search of Alistair.

She found him right at the back of the camp, where a couple of stuffed straw training dummies had materialised, with buckets on their head and the Templar sword painted on them. One was looking distinctly charred around the edges, but Alistair was still shield-bashing it anyway,

“Come on, you bastard, fight me, I've got the entire free mages behind me!” Alistair shouted. “I think mages are great and your mum says the same about me!”

Stendarr's mercy. Men were the same the world over, it seemed.

“Are you winning?” Elisif said cheerfully, and Alistair actually shivered.

“FUS RO DAH!” he shouted at the dummy, and the force shredded the dummy to pieces, straw and sacking going everywhere and the bucket thudding into the cliff behind it, leaving a wooden pole behind and even that was vibrating back and forth.

The Thu'um had echoed around the valley, with more than a few people looking up in alarm, and Elisif shot an anxious look up at the mountains. She really didn't want an avalanche burying the village. Fortunately, all seemed calm.

Apart from Alistair, who'd lowered his sword, shaking all over and not facing her, and that was probably a good thing, because Elisif always felt energised from using the Thu'um and apparently hearing another Dragonborn use theirs had similar effects. Kyne knew what it had done to Alistair, but there was probably a reason why he'd unleashed it on realising she was there. Hearing her voice affected him and he'd felt the need to rally his power. She just wished he knew a Thu'um other than that one, because now she was trying to balance a Dragonborn's glee at another dragon revelling in his power, and flashbacks to seeing Ulfric kill Torygg.

“Well, that killed it,” Elisif said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Fiona's going to want another training dummy, you know.”

“I know,” Alistair said grimly, sheathing his sword and turning to face her. He smiled on seeing her but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “Hello Elisif. I… wasn't expecting to see you so soon.”

“We picked up the pace ourselves on the way back,” Elisif said, filling the gap with small talk, because how did you casually bring a conversation round to the fact that she desperately wanted to bed him and her husband was also nursing a massive crush on him? Not easily, and when the subject of all this attention was a man raised by a conservative Chantry and celibate Chantry brothers, and who might not even be inclined towards men, it was near impossible. But Madanach had looked so hopeful and eager and she couldn't let him down. “I was worried about you. I wanted to know if you'd made it back all right.”

She stepped forward as she spoke, and Alistair frowned at her. Which… was unexpected. Damn it. Now was not the time for him to discover his more serious side.

“Right,” Alistair said, folding his arms. “Worried. Of course you were. Not that I don't believe you but… don't tell me that was all you were feeling.”

Now there was really no need for him to be quite that hostile, and her annoyance must have shown because he sighed and looked away.

“Your husband fancies me, is trying to seduce me, and the only thing that has made him stop is me pointing out you would murder me if you found us in bed,” Alistair said, still not meeting her eyes. “I've come to the conclusion the man is insane.”

Which actually brought a smile to Elisif's face because it meant Alistair was finally getting to know the real Madanach.

“Oh, he definitely is,” Elisif said, feeling warm inside as she contemplated her quite mad but still adorable husband. “But don't let that put you off him. He adores you.”

Alistair howled in frustration, turned round and punched the pole that had once been a training dummy. 

“You're NOT supposed to be encouraging him!” Alistair gasped, wincing a little. The steel gauntlet and mail underneath had probably protected his hand but he'd punched solid wood and that had to have hurt. Elisif's maternal instincts took over and she stepped forward and took his hand, letting Restoration magic flow into it. Healing Hands was invaluable when you had a small child – kissing it better was so much more effective when you really could heal a scraped knee or grazed elbow.

“Better?” Elisif said, still cradling his hand.

“I cannot get used to you being able to do that,” Alistair said, taking his hand from hers and flexing his fingers in amazement. “I cannot get used to any of this. You just walked into my life, you and him both, turned it upside down, gave me a purpose and a place and the fucking Thu'um, told me there was a whole other continent out there with no Blights and no Chantry and free mages and elves with their own countries and eight gods… and apparently spouses find out their partner likes someone else and just start setting out another place for dinner??”

“Um,” Elisif said, because it wasn't THAT common. But it wasn't unknown either, because Mara and her priests preached love… but not monogamy necessarily, not as long as the situation was managed ethically and did not destabilise families. And Dibella's priesthood practically encouraged taking as many lovers as you could persuade to take an interest.

And there was an unspoken but definitely known tradition of Nord male-female married couples who might live in relative isolation taking another man into their bed and their home, because one man might have difficulty taking care of and protecting a pregnant wife on his own, but two could make a much better stand against invaders. Or one could hold the line while the other fled with the family, and their wife would still have someone. 

It wasn't unknown for male-male couples to invite a woman into their home to provide children either (female-female ones might give house room to a man too for the same reason, but not normally on anything other than a short-term basis). People never expected Nords to go in for this sort of thing, but they were a pragmatic people who knew life was short. And so Nords would say nothing if their neighbours suddenly acquired an extra member of the household, but simply welcome the new arrival with gifts and then get on with their lives.

Ferelden clearly had not kept this tradition, or at least it was being kept out of sight of the Chantry, because Alistair was not remotely fine with this.

“You cannot be all right with this,” Alistair said quietly. “And even if you are, I'M not! Maker, Elisif, I've never even been with a man before, never even… And you're beautiful, you know you are, and you're kind and compassionate and fierce and all kinds of amazing and if you were single, or a widow with a little girl, I'd be taking you to my tent right now, then moving in to your cabin and playing Dad to Maia. But You. Have. A. Husband.”

“One who would never turn you away, and Maia would love two fathers,” Elisif gasped, not sure why her body was suddenly feeling like it was, not recognising this at all, because she'd only ever wanted two men in her life before, and they'd both loved her back. She wasn't used to this pain in her chest and the tightness in her throat and the tears in her eyes. She didn't like it. 

“You don't have to sleep with him!” Elisif said, hating the pleading tone in her voice, because she was a High Queen and a Dragonborn and neither was accustomed to begging. “You don't have to take him as a lover. Just be his friend and keep him company. He'd settle for that.”

“Bollocks would he, Madanach's not the type to settle for anything!” Alistair snapped. He really was getting to know Madanach alarmingly well.

“He will respect your boundaries,” Elisif said firmly. “If I have to enforce it personally.”

“That's worse!” Alistair cried. “Elisif, you can't hurt him, that's… you can't. Please.”

Which hurt, it really did.

“I never said I'd use violence!” Elisif protested. “He might be completely pig-headed but he does listen to me!”

Faint smile from Alistair as he nodded, clearly conceding the point. But he still didn't exactly look happy.

“I keep wanting to hurt him,” Alistair said softly. “He says he doesn't mind. But he can't really want me pinning him down and using him, can he? I don't know, maybe he does but that doesn't mean it's OK, does it?”

Elisif couldn't help but remember coming back from Sovngarde, feeling ready to move on from her dead husband at last, seeing Madanach in front of her being, well, Madanach, and feeling the urge to leap on and possess him and teach him a lesson until he acknowledged the power of her Thu'um.

To this day, she still didn't think she'd ever accomplished that exactly, but the leaping and claiming was always entertaining and Madanach put up only a token resistance before eventually he'd yield and give in, and she'd always just know when it happened, feeling him give way and do whatever she wanted.

She didn't always get it all her own way, but as far as hurting Madanach went, she was no longer afraid on that score. Three years of him being truly vulnerable and helpless and she'd done nothing to take advantage. She didn't think Alistair would do so either. Certainly not with Madanach healthy and strong once more, and able to summon her via the empathy bond if he was truly afraid.

“He would say if anything you were doing was truly hurting him,” Elisif told him gently. “If you care about him and he feels the same, it's not wrong, Alistair.”

Alistair just shook his head.

“Elisif,” he said wearily, rubbing his forehead. “Elisif, stop. Please. Nothing you can say will make me feel OK with this. You're amazing, but I can't… if I'm with you, I'll feel like I'm hurting someone I care about by stealing his wife, and if I'm around Madanach, I really will end up hurting him and I can't… Elisif, I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this. I wish I could. You're both amazing and if either you or him were single, I could… I could love either of you.” 

Alistair sounded surprised as he said this, the admission he could love Madanach being news to Alistair it seemed. But even so, he stood firm.

“But not both of us,” Elisif said, not entirely succeeding in keeping the bitterness out of her voice.

“Elisif, don't say that,” Alistair said, sounding pretty cut up himself, and this time it was Alistair reaching out for her and Elisif flinching away. “I've never met anyone like you, not since Lyra. And she couldn't teach me about being Dragonborn.”

“Don't,” Elisif whispered, feeling her throat close up. “Don't say it. Don't tell me how wonderful I am then turn me down. You don't get to do that.”

Alistair stepped away, soft little noise of surprise escaping his mouth as if that hadn't occurred to him before, that saying no might come with a cost. Someone else might have said _of course we're still friends, of course we are, no hard feelings_. But Elisif had never been turned down before and she was a Dragonborn and High Queen who rarely heard a direct no from anyone (apart from Madanach). She couldn't find it in her to spare a thought for Alistair's feelings when her own were falling apart.

“I'm sorry,” she heard him whisper. Elisif shook her head and turned away.

“So am I,” she said, and started walking, determinedly not looking back.

She didn't see Alistair staring after her in shock, watching her leave. And once she was out of sight, she barely heard Alistair turn on the other training dummy and rip it to pieces, screaming his emotions out as he did so and then finally sinking to the ground, sitting there mute until Blackwall and Bethany came to find him and bring him back to camp, delivering him to a concerned Grand Enchanter who'd sent them out there in the first place.

Alistair sat down in her command tent, staring up at her, not sure what to say or how to say it, unsure how far her promise to mother him went. But she looked back, looked heartbroken herself, and then she was kneeling next to him, holding him in her arms, and Alistair stopped questioning it. 

“I did the wrong thing, didn't I?” Alistair whispered. “Turning her – them – down.”

“If saying yes would have made you uncomfortable, it was not wrong,” Fiona told him and Alistair just shivered.

“Then why does it hurt?” Alistair gasped, hating himself for not being better at this, stronger, able to keep himself from sobbing on the Grand Enchanter's shoulder.

“Because you care very much for them both, but you couldn't live with the sort of arrangement they were offering,” Fiona said gently. “That is no fault of yours. It takes strength to know your limits and enforce them, da'len.”

“She hates me,” Alistair whispered. “She'll never talk to me again.”

“Not true,” Fiona told him. “She is hurting too. But she will recover in time. She will forgive you.”

Alistair truly couldn't see how. Fiona wasn't completely certain either, in fact she was quietly kicking herself for not having been Orlesian enough to encourage her son to be with the Herald of Andraste, and wondering how things would turn out once the Breach was sealed.

But it was done now. Alistair would find a way to live with this. She hoped. The alternative did not bear thinking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, the sealing of the Breach as In Your Heart Shall Burn gets under way.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to close the Breach, and everyone is on edge, not just about the project but about the possible consequences. But for Alistair in particular, things get interesting, as he not only learns something about his Templar powers he'd never realised, he also learns far far more about himself than he'd ever expected...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, world, I guess we're all in a bit of a shock right now, and I could certainly deal with a bit of cheering up, how about you? So you're getting an update! It is a bit of feelgood celebration before it all goes tits up.

A week later, and while Alistair was still avoiding Madanach and Elisif, and they were studiously avoiding him (even if Madanach was frequently seen staring wistfully after Alistair whenever the other man wasn't looking) all of them had more important things to worry about. Eola and Liriel and the others were back, and while the Loyalist mages were being very tight-lipped on what had transpired out in the Oasis, the free mages were all over the new knowledge, with squads of mages being organised by a gleeful Madanach eager to rain down fiery death on anyone daring to attack them.

Meanwhile Cassandra, Solas, Cullen and Fiona were in talks regarding the sealing of the Breach, and it wasn't long before Cassandra announced to Elisif that they were ready, if Madanach could work with Fiona on organising the mages into position.

And so it happened that the mages gathered behind Elisif while a squad of Templars kneeled in front, with Alistair among them, and Eola there too with the Staff of Magnus raised. 

“It absorbs magic,” Eola explained to a fascinated Alistair even as the Templars all edged away from her nervously. “I once had to use this thing to absorb power off a dangerous magical artefact that was bleeding power all over the place. Mainly because an elven mage was misusing it, but let's not lose sight of the fact that the thing was powerful and unstable to begin with, hmm?”

“And you think it'll help draw power off the Breach?” Alistair asked, looking up at the great green whirlpool in the sky, trying not to remember this temple as it once had been – a sacred place of peace and harmony and wisdom. Hard to recall laying eyes on Andraste's ashes themselves and then see what had happened to the place. He wasn't the most devout of people but it had still been special. Now look at it. At least they could fix the Breach maybe.

“Of course,” Eola purred, stroking the staff tenderly. “Don't worry. We'll fix this. Now, I need to be on the other side of that plinth, out of range of you guys so if you don't mind…?”

“Oh, right. Yes of course,” Alistair said, tearing his eyes off the staff with difficulty, and even if he wasn't a mage himself, all their gear looked so _shiny_. Sometimes he wished he could do magic, although he was also absolutely sure he'd have been a terrible Circle mage. Constantly getting in trouble, talking back to the Templars – he'd have been Tranquil for sure. No thanks. Perhaps it was for the best magic was forever shut off to him. Apart from the Thu'um. He'd tested the one Shout he could use, and it was as strong as any of Bethany's force spells. Just not as precise or as controllable. Bethany had looked wary of him ever since. Maybe she was right to.

But right now, he had other problems, such as helping the Templars suppress the Breach's magic a little so that Elisif and the mages wouldn't have to work quite so hard to seal it. He organised himself into line with the rest of them, such as they were, and began to prepare.

At least until Cassandra's voice cut him off.

“Alistair, why are you here.”

“Eh?” Alistair broke off his meditation to see Cassandra frowning at him and Cullen approaching too looking downright annoyed.

“Why. Are. You. With. The. Templars,” Cassandra repeated, as if he was completely stupid. A bit uncalled-for in Alistair's mind.

“Trying to help?” Alistair said, surprised. “I'm suppressing magic. Like the others.”

Cassandra turned to Cullen, tutting. 

“Cullen, is he on the lyrium roster?”

“No,” Cullen said tersely. “Alistair's neither asked for nor been given any since he got here. He left before taking vows, he never took it in the first place.”

Cassandra nodded and turned back to him, sympathetic but firm.

“Alistair, your enthusiasm is appreciated, but you are no Seeker. You cannot suppress magic without either a Seeker's initiation rite or lyrium. Templar training alone is not enough. You're not needed here.”

This was news to Alistair, who'd been able to do it just fine even without lyrium all his life, and a few of the Templars next to him were start to bristle angrily. Sure, the Chantry had always said that but Alistair had found it not to be true, and so he'd just assumed it was to keep power over the Templars.

Except from the furious look on Cullen's face as Alistair explained he could actually do it without lyrium, and the mystified expression on Cassandra's, he began to wonder if perhaps that wasn't the case at all.

“Alistair, that is not possible,” Cassandra said firmly. “No one can do that without lyrium unless they are a Seeker.”

“Well, I can,” Alistair said, refusing to back down when he knew he was right. “And I want to help. Cullen, stop looking at me like that, just because I'm better than you at Templaring.”

“Better at…” Cullen had gone almost purple, practically snarling at Alistair for this. “You didn't even take vows!! You left to hunt darkspawn, didn't do a brilliant job at that from what I hear and now you're back here making friends with mages and living in their camp??”

Alistair's own rage started to rise, a slow anger he wasn't used to feeling, a cold rage that began to radiate from his chest outwards, accompanied by thoughts of ripping this jumped-up Chantry footsoldier's head from his shoulders, and as Alistair got up, Cullen knew he'd made a mistake.

“Alistair,” Cassandra was saying. “Alistair, stay back. If you want a place in this Inquisition, you will not assault our military leader, Alistair!”

Alistair didn't care, because Cullen's Thu'um was no match for his, Cullen's Thu'um was non-existent and he didn't even have Templar abilities any more, he could definitely take Cullen in a fight if he had to… and then a gauntleted hand smacked onto his shoulder, and Alistair knew who it was without even turning around… and the rage died out of him. _Thuri,_ something inside him whispered, bringing it with it fear, love, respect, and the sure knowledge that he killed on her orders and could no more fight or argue with her than with the mountain itself.

“Alistair. Please don't hit Cullen, we need him,” Elisif said calmly. “Now what exactly is going on?”

“He's claiming he has Templar powers without lyrium!” Cullen snapped. “Which shouldn't be possible!”

Elisif blinked and turned to Cassandra. “Is this true?” she said, surprised.

“It should be,” Cassandra admitted. “The Seekers have ways of developing those powers without it, but Alistair was never one of us and has never undergone the vigil we use. And he's had no lyrium since arriving. We assumed he had no use of his Templar powers any more, if he ever had them to begin with. But Alistair says he still can use them.”

“He can,” Elisif confirmed. “Maia's seen him do it. Well, technically he used them on her after she accidentally set his tent on fire. She was most put out. I didn't know they needed lyrium?”

Because no one had ever thought to actually tell her this, and she'd not been involved with the logistical details – Josephine had handled lyrium acquisition and Cullen had handled distribution. Elisif, a stranger to the Chantry, had never really known how Templars did what they did. But she recalled an early conversation with Solas about her Thu'um – how dragon magic reminded him of a Seeker's power, and that she might be able to learn Cassandra's abilities if she tried. Without lyrium.

Alistair was Dragonborn, he'd had Templar training… and somehow learnt their powers without needing any lyrium. 

She patted him on the back, smiling at this turn of events… until she remembered he'd said no to her, and was looking very uneasily at her, and Elisif looked away and let him go.

“Alistair's a man of many talents, Cassandra,” Elisif said, ignoring him and focusing on the Seeker instead. “If he says he doesn't need lyrium, then it's all the more for the rest of you. Look, we can discuss this later, but we have a Breach to seal, and I'm not turning down any aid. Cassandra, find Alistair a place among the Templars, then let's get to it. We don't have all day.”

“Herald,” Cullen and Cassandra both murmured and Cassandra settled Alistair down in line with the rest of the Templars, who were now looking at him with a mix of curiosity and resentment, but not actually rejecting him. Cullen growled, but took his leave, and Elisif slowly reached out to Alistair, wondering if she should say something.

But he wasn't looking at her, shoulders hunched and attention on the Breach, and Elisif closed her eyes and walked away, quietly giving him up. It felt wrong, so wrong, to be walking away from her fellow Dragonborn, a brother in arms, someone who it just felt right to be around. No conflict, no uneasiness, just understanding each other somehow. Except now he was avoiding her and she didn't know how to talk to him any more and it just felt wrong.

She missed him. Maybe it would get better. But maybe it wouldn't. At any rate, she had a Breach to seal. No time to think on any of this now. 

So she took her place with the mages, trying to ignore Fiona's furrowed glare as she squeezed Madanach's hand and readied herself. Time to fix the sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Templar power flared on one side of the chamber. The Staff of Magnus flared on the other and began draining magic off the Breach in tandem. And as the Breach's power faltered, the mages raised their own under Solas's command and began pouring it into Elisif's mark.

Elisif raised her hand, feeling the power grow as the mark activated, and her nerves were blazing, this thing was going to consume her if she didn't let it go soon, and she raised her hand, feeling the sweat pour out of her and suddenly feeling genuinely afraid that this ritual might actually kill her.

_No, I don't want to die, Maia needs me, I can't just leave Madanach on his own, I can't, I…_

“Now!” Solas cried, and Cassandra nudged her and Elisif released the power, crying as she did so, because it really _hurt!_

And then the Breach _exploded_ in a shower of green light, and the rocks fell towards the earth, and it was only barriers from some quick-thinking senior mages that saved lives and brought the big ones safely to earth.

But the sky was no longer green, and while the scar of magic swirled in the clouds above, the heavens were calm.

The Breach was sealed, and there was a moment's silence before everyone threw their hands in the air and began cheering.

Elisif had staggered back, been caught by Cassandra and then turned to stare at her, hardly daring to believe it had really worked.

“It worked,” Elisif gasped. “It actually worked!”

“Yes!” Cassandra cried. “We could not have done it without you, Herald!”

Cassandra then embraced her and Elisif could only squeal as she hugged her back.

“But it never just works!” Elisif cried, struggling to be heard over all the shouting and celebrating. “Something's got to go wrong, surely!”

“Elisif, did no one ever tell you not to tempt fate?” Solas laughed as Cassandra let her go. “That said, your sealing of the Breach will be obvious for miles around. That's sure to attract the attention of the one who caused it. This… Elder One. It will be the third time you've disrupted his plans. That might mean consequences.”

“We have battle plans, Solas,” Cassandra said tersely. “Cullen and I have rigorously gone over Haven's defences, and Madanach has done likewise with the mages. We are not defenceless. And Leliana would have reported if there was any force within a day of Haven that could pose a problem. We will have no trouble tonight.”

Good, because Elisif intended to find Madanach and get quite drunk with him. He was presently enthusiastically hugging Fiona… and Liriel… and Bethany… and now Dorian… and almost Vivienne before he recollected what he was doing, saw the appalled expression on her face, laughed nervously and backed away.

Elisif practically sprinted down to reach him, barely acknowledging the cheer that went up as she passed, and thankfully the crowd parted before her and then she was standing in front of her husband. And maybe Alistair didn't want her, but this man did and always would, and he was remarkably attractive when he smiled.

Madanach held out his arms and she went into them gladly and kissed him for all she was worth.

“We did it,” she whispered to him.

“Yes we did,” he murmured back, and their empathy bond practically sang with just how happy and proud and contented they both felt.

Maybe the Elder One would retaliate. Maybe this could all go horribly wrong yet. But the Breach was sealed and the Inquisition was celebrating, and Madanach and Elisif had each other.

For now, all was well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Maia had been allowed to stay up to watch, and she and the other children were sitting by Varric's campfire in their warmest clothes, eating biscuits and watching the Breach and pestering their babysitters, Blackwall, Varric, Borkul and Cicero, with questions about the Breach-closing. Cicero had orders from Elisif to grab Maia, summon Arvak and flee if it went wrong, but Maia didn't need to know that. So Cicero cheerfully babbled answers based on his knowledge of the arcane, which wasn't a lot but still better than that of anyone else present.

And they all stopped as the ritual started and all of Haven held its breath. And let it out again in a mighty cheer as the Breach exploded then fell in on itself and was gone.

“SHE DID IT!” Blackwall roared, raising his tankard. “THE HERALD DID IT!”

“MAMA DID IT!” Maia squealed. “MAMA DID IT, LOOK CICERO, MAMA DID IT!” This was repeated to every other person, child or adult, nearby until she got an answer off each of them… or at least until Lucy and Suzette started cuddling her and distracted her.

The party began and it didn't get quieter as the victorious expedition returned and celebrations began in earnest. And central to them all was the hero of the day, Elisif the Herald of Andraste, who was sitting outside the chantry, being toasted by everyone while her proud husband sat with her and her equally proud little girl bounced around her and cuddled her and cheerfully told everyone her mama could do anything.

Most of Haven believed her.

But there was one man not feeling quite so celebratory. One man who couldn't drink, couldn't bear to watch Elisif cuddling Madanach all evening, and had taken himself away from it all to the quieter mage camp, although even that was starting to get a little raucous. He'd seen Leliana lining up some shots for some sort of drinking contest involving a pensive Josephine, who Leliana was claiming once outdrank a Nordic warrior queen, Iron Bull who was claiming these piddly little drinks were nothing, and Liriel who seemed to think High Elf metabolism meant these would kick in for her round about the time the rest of them passed out. She was wrong, but it would take a few rounds to find that out. Cicero made up the last member of the group, but having just secretly downed a poison resistance draught, he had an unfair advantage.

Alistair had decided the whole thing would be better off as a story told later, probably by Murder Clown who had a way with words, especially when detailing another's misfortunes, and he'd made his way back to his tent.

Where Fiona was sitting up, quietly watching Bethany and Blackwall putting Suzette, Lucy and Maia to bed. Gerard, reunited with his family, was spending the night in Haven with them, and Bethany, feeling the gap acutely, had offered to have Maia over for a sleepover, an offer accepted by her grateful parents, who were looking forward to a child-free night together for once.

Fiona was watching and listening with a very strange look on her face and were those tears in her eyes? Alistair glanced at the tumbler of Orlesian brandy in her hands and wondered if Fiona should give up the drink as well. 

“Hello, do you need company?” he asked hesitantly and Fiona looked up, surprised to see him.

“Alistair?” she whispered, rubbing one of her eyes with her free hand. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off celebrating?”

“They're all celebrating with shots of liqueurs and I don't drink,” Alistair told her, coming to sit next to her. She'd spread a rug on the snow and arranged a few cushions, and procured one for him, fussing around him in a way he rarely saw her do for anyone else. “I thought I'd head back here, make an early night of it – Fiona, you don't have to do this. You're not actually my mother.”

Fiona flinched and did not look at him, but she did stop fussing with cushions and sat down.

“Forgive me, I just spent the last fifteen minutes watching Bethany and Blackwall put three children to bed,” Fiona said quietly. “Just be glad they are all girls or I'd be sobbing into a whole bottle of this stuff.”

Her voice sounded heavy and unhappy and Alistair couldn't help but put an arm round her. The poor thing just seemed so lonely. All that responsibility, so many people looking up to her, lots of colleagues but how many could she really call friend? No lover that Alistair knew of, and one child who she'd lost years ago. Poor woman. Alistair rather thought he knew how she felt.

“Look, are you sure you don't want me to track your boy down?” Alistair said quietly. “You don't have to make contact if you don't want, but would it help to know how he's doing? He might be married. With kids. You might be a grandmum!”

“All the more reason not to,” Fiona said fiercely. “Alistair, thank you, but let it go. Elf-blood is a stain and a shame for humans, far more than you think.”

“Not for me, it isn't!” Alistair protested. “I don't care if someone has elven ancestors or not. I only care if they're a decent person or an arsehole. And I know I'm not the only one. Look, if he turns out to really hate elf-blooded people, I'll beat him up myself.”

“Alistair...” Fiona whispered, looking pained, and Alistair wondered if perhaps that had been a bit insensitive, offering to hit her son if he turned out to be a colossal cock-end. He was still her son after all. But she didn't seem angry.

“You need to stop reminding me there are good men in the world still,” Fiona said softly, staring into the nearby fire. “I try every day to stay firm and resolute, keep the world at bay from my inner self. You make that very difficult.”

Alistair went very still and slowly began removing his arm, because this was starting to get weird, mainly because it was true what she said. Fiona and he had been strangers not so very long ago, she was in her fifties, he was fairly certain he didn't fancy her even if she looked great for her age. But there was something here between them, some… connection. He didn't understand it but he could sense it, and he had a feeling so did she… and she knew more than she was letting on.

_We are not lovers but we are becoming more than friends and I don't understand it at all._

“You can't live your life like that, Fiona,” Alistair said gently. “You need to let someone in. We all need loved ones. I mean, I know I'm hardly the shining example, having spectacularly fucked up every relationship I ever had, but my destiny doesn't need to be yours. You could still be happy.”

Fiona closed her eyes, hands covering her face even as her expression crumpled and Alistair stared in horror as he realised he'd managed to make the Grand Enchanter cry.

“Oh no,” he breathed. “Fiona no, don't cry… oh Maker, I'm so sorry...”

He put his arms around her and she nestled into his arms, not seeming to mind he was still in his armour. She was still hiding her face as she clung on to him, some untold grief racking her body from the inside out.

“You're so like him,” Fiona gasped through her tears. “One of the few good men in the world. Your father was the same. Maric didn't care I was an elf, or a mage, he just saw someone who needed help and saved me. I never met anyone else like him. But sometimes I close my eyes and listen to you and it's like he's back here.”

Her voice cracked again and she closed her eyes, still sobbing softly, but Alistair couldn't spare any thoughts for her feelings right now, because his mind had just ground to a halt. Because it turned out Fiona had somehow managed to meet his father at one point… and if he wasn’t mistaken, Fiona appeared to have had feelings for him. Strong feelings that might just have been reciprocated for Fiona to still be hanging on to them.

“Fiona,” Alistair said slowly, skin at the back of his neck prickling as he began to start piecing things together. “When did you know my father? You were in the Wardens or a Circle, and in Orlais and Nevarra at that, when did you ever visit Ferelden?”

A little gasp had escaped her throat, tears stopping abruptly and the blood draining from her face as she stared guiltily up at him, and Alistair felt suspicion crystallise into certainty.

“When?” he breathed. “How long ago? You said you had a son my age, you said he’d gone to his human non-mage father in Ferelden. Was that child fathered by King Maric??”

The horrified guilty look on her face said it all, and unless King Maric of Ferelden had had a complete nervous breakdown thirty one years ago and fathered two bastard sons by different women, Alistair realised that everything he thought he’d known about who he was, where he’d come from, had been a complete lie.

“Fiona?” Alistair pressed, needing to hear this from her, needing to know the truth. “Am I that son? Are you my...”

“You were never supposed to know,” Fiona whispered, hands to her mouth, still staring at him in horror. “You were supposed to live your life free of the shame. Alistair, I’m so sorry.”

“ _Sorry???_ ” Alistair cried, emotion overwhelming him as it started to sink in just how many things he’d thought to be true just weren’t. “The mother I was told all my life was dead, had just been a servant my father had had a fling with, was not only alive all this time, she’s the famous Grand Enchanter Fiona? I could have had a mother all along?”

“Alistair, I’m sorry,” Fiona whispered. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this, I...”

 _I was never supposed to know._ And if it hadn’t been for too much to drink, Fiona feeling especially emotional due to the proximity of cute little children, Alistair himself being here and reminding her of his father, likely he still wouldn’t know.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Alistair whispered, feeling his throat tightening, cheeks raw, tears in his eyes as he felt the emotion rising, and he didn’t know whether to hit something or cry. “You were just going to let me go on believing I didn’t have anyone, that no one really loved me or cared about me or wanted me… is that it. Is that why. I still don’t, is that what you mean. Am I that much of an embarrassment.”

Of course he was. Recovering alcoholic who’d achieved nothing and wasted his life – she’d probably heard stories from Varric or Bethany about his time in Kirkwall and decided it would be better all round to have nothing to do with him. And she was probably right. Filled with disgust at himself and the entire situation, Alistair started to get up to leave, wanting no more of this… until Fiona reached out and grabbed his arm before he could move.

“No!” Fiona cried out, tears still rolling down her face. “No, of course not, of course you’re not, you could never be. I wanted you free. Of this. Of elf-blood. Of this tainted legacy of elf-blood and magic both. You were better off never knowing!”

“Better – _better off??_ ” Alistair shouted, as he spun round to face her, heedless of the tent vibrating as newly-woken dragon blood started making its presence felt. “I have gone through my _entire life_ thinking I was worthless and unlovable, thinking no one cared about me other than as a pawn to be used. I managed to screw up every friendship, every relationship, I never found anyone who loved me back, the only thing that made life look appealing was the drink and now I can’t even have that, and the ones who are showing an interest are fucking _married to each other_ and if I get involved, I’ll probably just ruin that too and a little girl’s life in the bargain. I have spent _thirty years_ thinking my mother was _dead_ and wishing I’d known who she was or what she looked like, and imagining she was watching over me from the Fade or the Maker’s side, and there were days when that was literally all that kept me going, and now I don’t even have that. Because my mother is not only not dead, she’s a fucking hero with her own army of free mages, and she wants nothing to do with her embarrassment of a son!”

Half the camp shook on that last line, and as Alistair’s temper finally subsided, he realised two things. First, that while he could still hear music and singing in the distance from Haven itself, the mage camp had gone very very quiet. And secondly, that Fiona, Grand Enchanter and leader of the Free Mages, former Warden and the only one ever to escape the Calling, was on her knees in front of him, head in her hands and sobbing her heart out.

 _Oh no. I broke Grand Enchanter Fiona. Elisif and Madanach are going to_ kill me.

“Oh. Oh no. Please don’t cry,” Alistair whispered, anger having drained away to be replaced with horrible, horrible guilt. “I didn’t mean… can’t you just shout at me or disown me or something? Tell me I’m the worst son ever, get out of your camp?”

Fiona’s sobs intensified and she shook her head, barely able to speak, and when she did, it was just two words… but they struck Alistair to the core.

“I can’t,” Fiona gasped. “I… can’t.”

Alistair didn’t know whether this was a good thing or not. On the one hand, she clearly wasn’t pushing him away because he revolted her. But on the other… what if she did despise him but couldn't bring herself to push him away either. Wouldn’t that be worse?

Alistair had a feeling that might be worse. 

And then was all rendered academic as Fiona’s steward, Lysas, called out to her, approaching from the other side of the nearby campfire, footsteps crunching on snow.

“Grand Enchanter, are you all right? We heard shouting. And… magic?”

It had been unintentional Thu’umic resonances that had a tendency to leak out when a Dragonborn got angry, or so Elisif had told him, but Alistair had no intention of explaining that. Not to Lysas anyway. To Fiona if she asked… maybe.

Fiona had gone quiet, hastily wiped the tears away and sat up, doing her best to project authority.

“I’m fine, Lysas,” Fiona called back. “Alistair and I just had some things to discuss, that’s all. And we’re still discussing them. If we could have some privacy?”

“All right, Grand Enchanter, but if he’s going to shout, half the camp’s going to hear him. And you know he’s a Templar, right? He’s got their powers.”

Exasperated sigh from Fiona, the eye-roll visible even in the semi-darkness they were sitting in.

“I’m aware, Lysas,” Fiona said firmly. “You’re dismissed.”

“As you wish,” Lysas sighed, mage robes swishing on the snow as he retreated… but Alistair had a feeling the elf had heard everything and that neither of them had heard the last of this.

Fiona’s bravado sagged out of her as soon as he’d gone, and she stared at the ground, looking utterly defeated.

“It will be all over the camp by morning, and all Haven will know by tomorrow night, if either of us wished it kept hidden, it is too late now,” Fiona said quietly. “I am sorry, da’len. I tried to protect you, but the world will know now that your blood isn’t pure.”

She looked so sad and weary and defeated, and Alistair realised she really had been so ashamed of her elven blood that she’d wanted to protect her apparently human son from ever having to deal with it. Apparently being part-elven was really considered that shameful. Alistair hadn’t ever really realised. Someone being part-elf would never have bothered him, he’d never really considered other people might look down on it.

After this, he might be finding out firsthand. 

It was a source of some surprise to him that he found himself not caring. He’d spent so many years being a disappointment and a failure for reasons entirely within his control, having people despise him for something he couldn’t help would be a refreshing change. In fact, weren’t you practically obliged to hit people who said nasty things about your mother?

He was actually rather looking forward to it. Bring it the fuck on.

“The only taint in my blood is what the Joining put there,” Alistair said, straightening up as warrior instincts started kicking in, anticipating the joy of a fight for a worthy cause, of finally being able to stand up for himself and be proud of who he was. “There’s nothing wrong with having elven blood, and anyone says otherwise in my hearing, they’ll be changing their mind or feeling my fist. I don’t care my mother’s an elf. I don’t care you’re a mage either, in fact I’m really proud of you. You led the mages to freedom, you did all this! You’re a hero to all these people! And I get to say I’m related to you? I’m… I mean, that is… I’m honoured...”

Alistair could see the tent going blurry and feel moisture on his cheeks, and he realised he’d started crying.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Alistair gasped, pulling his gauntlet off and rubbing at his eyes. “Why would I be?? You’re amazing. And when I needed somewhere to go and someone to look after me, you did it, and you didn’t have to. You could have just walked away. I would never have known.”

“I don’t think I could have.” Fiona had moved nearer, Orlesian silk handkerchief in her hand as she started dabbing at his face. “Not once I knew you needed help. Alistair, I… I couldn’t raise you myself, and I wanted you to have a better life than I’d had. I wanted you to enjoy the privilege of being fully human. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t love you or miss you or think about you every day. Maker, I must have cried the entire journey back from Denerim...”

She was crying again now, tears rolling down her cheeks but she didn’t seem to notice, being too busy drying his, which was kind of her but she really didn’t need to. 

Alistair took her hand in his, taking it away from his face and just holding hands with her, not sure what to say or where they went from here, but he felt like his heart had been ripped open, emotions bleeding out all over the place, and more than anything he wanted love and comfort from someone who loved him… and he had a mother now. He had a mother. 

He could have a mother who loved him. Something he’d wanted all his life and thought he would never have, but suddenly it was possible.

“You’re not in the Circle any more,” Alistair said quietly. “Or the Wardens. No one’s going to stop you any more, or take me away. You… if you want to… you could… you could be my...”

He couldn't say it out loud. His throat was already closing up and he’d start crying if he said the words. But Fiona knew, and Fiona placed her other hand on his.

“If I acknowledge you publicly, it will not be easy, _mon petit_ ,” Fiona said softly. “The world will judge you. Orlais still has laws barring the elf-blooded from public life, and the rest of Thedas is not much more enlightened. For now, the Inquisition protects us both but it will not last forever. Are you sure about this? Is this truly what you want?”

Alistair had some well thought out reply in mind, all good to go. Something about it being out now anyway, everyone would know, and he’d rather face it with his head held high and his mother alongside him, and screw the world, they’d have each other.

But Alistair had grown up lonely and unhappy, and his adult life had been no better, and the Arls of Redcliffe had tried but neither able to fill the void that loving parents would have, and Alistair’s emotions got the better of him.

“I want my mum,” he managed to choke out, eyes closing and the tears welling up, and thirty years of pain and loneliness came pouring out of him as Alistair started crying, tears pouring out of him, emotion forcing itself out, refusing to be pent up any longer. He hated himself for doing it, was mortified at bursting into tears in front of her, but he couldn't stop himself. He needed his mother, had always needed his mother, or someone, anyone, to take him in their arms and tell him they loved him, always would.

And Fiona move closer, put her arms around him and pulled him close, hand on his back, tears on her own cheeks as she whispered it was going to be all right, she was here, she’d got him.

“I’ve got you, _cherie,_ I’ve got you,” Fiona whispered in his ear. “It’s all right, my son. It’s going to be all right. I’m so sorry for leaving you. I missed you every day. You’re my son, you’re my brave, strong, handsome son and I love you so much.”

“Mum,” Alistair gasped, still crying from the sheer release of emotion, a torrent that couldn’t stop… but with it he could feel an awful lot of fear, loathing and emotional baggage being swept away with it. He had a mother. She was alive. She loved him. She’d given him up but clearly it hadn’t been easy for her, and what choice had a mage had, really? Wardens didn’t really approve of you keeping your children with you, and the Chantry would have sent any child born of one of its Circle mages straight to an orphanage. 

Alistair was still furious he’d been lied to his whole life, but it was no longer Fiona his anger was directed at. He had her back, she’d taken him back, he had his _mother._

Even if she was Orlesian, and if he was honest, being half-Orlesian was far more unsettling than being half-elf. He’d get used to it, of course. But all the same, it was a bit weird.

“Love you, Mum,” Alistair whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I’m never letting you go again.”

“Nor I,” Fiona promised, tightening her grip. “I lost you before and the only thing that helped was believing you’d have a better life without me, with everyone thinking you human. Except I no longer believe that to be true. My son needs me. _You_ need me. I will not abandon you again.”

Alistair was going to cry again if she kept this up. But he held her close, cuddling her fiercely, promising to himself that he was not going to screw this up. He had his mother. He had someone who cared if he lived or died, if he did well or not. So… it would probably be better if he didn’t die, right? Because Fiona would miss him. And even if his love life was complicated and probably screwed up beyond repair, he had someone who loved him anyway. 

He had a reason to get out of bed in the morning and do something with his life. He’d not had one of those since the Blight.

_I could be happy. I don’t know how or what it’ll take to make it happen… but I could be happy. Without needing to drink to do it._

It was a new thought, an intriguing thought and one that merited further investigation. But maybe not tonight. Right now, he wanted to hear more about where he’d come from, and Fiona seemed to want to talk, releasing her grip and sitting back, although she did not let go of his hand.

“So,” Fiona said. “I… imagine you have questions.”

Yes. Of course. How did she meet his father, had they loved each other, was this while she was in the Wardens, before, after, did she spend any time with him after he was born or did they take him away and send him to Ferelden immediately?

So many questions. But the one that first came to mind was at once trivial and yet strangely pressing.

“What was my original name,” Alistair said, suddenly desperately curious to know what an Orlesian elf might have wanted to call her son. “Alistair’s a Fereldan name, I suppose Father picked it out? Or maybe he didn’t.” Hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but Maric Theirin had delegated everything else about parenting, why not that?

“He didn’t,” Fiona admitted, but she seemed rather amused. “But you never have had any other. Truth be told, I had no idea what to call a baby that would be human, and that I already had decided would be going to his human, Fereldan father. All the human names I knew were Orlesian, I couldn't give a Fereldan boy one of those. Truly I didn’t know what to do. Fortunately I had help. I had the company of my best friends in the Wardens, a comrade in arms who’d been the only other one to survive the ill-fated trip into the Deep Roads where I’d met your father. He was part Fereldan, part Rivaini, all human as far as I know, and he’d lived in Highever for a little while. I asked him what to call you. And he picked out Alistair. It suited you. Even if we did argue once I found out where he’d got the name from.”

“Where did he get the name from?” Alistair asked, desperately curious, particularly as Fiona was starting to look rather awkward.

“After one of the Teyrn of Highever’s dogs,” Fiona admitted. “Apparently the dog in question was constantly getting out, and he used to play with it as a boy, and it left an impression… son, I am sorry. I didn’t know until after we’d been using it for three weeks and the name had stuck by then.”

“I was named after a mabari?” Alistair gasped, barely registering her awkwardness, because to a Fereldan, this was actually really impressive and a thing worthy of bragging about. “Really?”

Fiona nodded, still wincing, still regretting having told him this bit, because in Orlais, dogs were generally seen as messy, filthy animals associated with peasants (apart from the finely bred pets and hunting dogs of the nobility, of course). Which meant she was completely unprepared for the way Alistair’s face had just lit up.

“Was it… was it a _good_ dog?” Alistair whispered hopefully, leaving Fiona completely non-plussed and confused. 

“I confess I don’t really know a lot about the animal in question...” Fiona said, not entirely sure what exactly made a good dog, and fortunately for her, Alistair just laughed.

“Ah, what does it matter, they’re _all_ good dogs, aren’t they,” Alistair said, grinning. “Named after a mabari, brilliant!”

“You don’t mind?” Fiona said, surprised. “Being named after a dog?”

“No, why would I?” Alistair replied, confused this would even be considered a problem. “Dogs are great!”

Fiona sighed and gave up on the idea of ever completely understanding her son. 

“Sometimes, my son, you are so very Fereldan,” Fiona said, amused as she shook her head. Alistair just laughed.

“Only one side, it turns out,” Alistair said, squeezing her hand. “Don’t worry. I forgive you for inflicting Orlesian ancestry on me. I’ll find a way to live with the shame somehow.”

“What??” Fiona gasped, and it was a moment before she realised he was joking… at least a little bit. “Maker, Alistair, of all the things that I thought might bother you… you’d better not say that near Leliana!”

Alistair visibly shuddered at that. 

“As if I would!” he promised. “Seriously Mum, I’m OK with it… but in Ferelden, having an elven or mage relative might not be exactly approved of, but you tell them one of your parents is Orlesian?? Fights have broken out over that sort of thing.”

“Well, you’d better not start any over me,” Fiona warned him. “I am a grown woman capable of defending her own honour.”

Alistair pouted but did not argue, which was something. But that couldn’t be his only question, and she wasn’t wrong.

“So… you did spend time with me after I was born? They didn’t make you give me up right away? That doesn’t sound like the Circle.”

“I was still a Warden at the time, just about,” Fiona said softly. “The taint had vanished during the pregnancy. No one knows how. But it seems I'm immune to the Blight. They tried putting me through the Joining again after you were born, but it didn’t work. Nothing worked. I'd been sent to Weisshaupt Fortress in the Anderfels for investigation and to make a report to the First Warden. We'd been sent on an expedition to the Deep Roads in Ferelden, and your father had decided to blow off the responsibilities of kingship to come with us. I thought he was some irresponsible fool off on a jaunt with no idea what he was letting himself in for. I have never been so glad to be proven wrong. He saved my life from a demon. It had… possessed me. And then it sent us into the Fade, lost in dreams. Your father was the one to break free first and come save us all. I was trapped in a nightmare. And it was him who gathered the others, came to get me and stubbornly refused to give up until I was free and the demon was dead. I saw him in a different light after that. You were the result. And I loved you from the moment I first saw you.”

Which was all completely news to Alistair, because he'd always thought he'd been born in Redcliffe and had assumed he’d been born in Ferelden even if the story of his birth turned out to be completely made up. But apparently being a Warden might just have been predestined. He'd been born in Weisshaupt itself??

“Yes you were,” Fiona admitted. “And the birth was hard, I couldn't make the journey to Ferelden right away. And no one else in Weisshaupt was really up for dealing with a small baby, so we agreed I would be able to take you to your father once I had recovered and in the meantime, I took care of you. For the first few months of your life, you were loved, my son.”

“Really?” Alistair whispered, feeling his heart melting, because he'd not been unwanted. His mother really had loved him, tended to him, only given him up because she'd had no choice. He didn’t know if this made it worse or better. But it was more than he ever thought he’d had. 

“Really,” Fiona told him, squeezing his hand. “You were such a happy, smiling baby. I didn't have a lot in the way of baby toys for you, but I used to cast these little illusions to keep you entertained, just little lights and pictures, and you loved them.”

Morrigan would no doubt have laughed at this point and said he'd not changed much, but it wasn't Alistair's fault glowing magical things were pretty, was it?

“Thank you,” Alistair whispered, unable to keep the yearning out of his voice, because he couldn't stop the longing for what he'd never had – a childhood with a loving parent who'd wanted him. And it turned out he'd had it for the first few months of his life, and then lost it. “And… and then I suppose they made you give me away.”

Fiona nodded sadly. “I'm fortunate they let me choose how. We made our way to Denerim, and while travelling with an infant when the two of you know nothing about children is challenging, I think you enjoyed the journey. You were always such a curious and bright-eyed little thing. You know you've not changed as much as you might think. Every time I look at you, I remember that little baby and still see traces of him. When I left him in Denerim with Maric, I never thought… I never thought I would see you again.”

A lump in her throat and Fiona was probably going to cry again, and Alistair didn't blame her because he could feel tears in his own eyes too.

“Couldn't… could Father have done anything?” he asked, wondering why Maric had taken him off Fiona and then never got in contact again. “He was king, he could have found you somewhere. He could have made you Court Enchanter! We could have lived in Denerim!”

“Oh my son,” Fiona whispered. “Fereldan politics are not as venomous as Orlais', it is true, but it is still dangerous, and how welcome would an Orlesian elven mage have been, really? Do you think Loghain would have tolerated my presence? No, my son. And I didn't want you exposed to that either. I asked Maric to keep you from court, and so it proved. I know your life was hard. I don't know if it would have been easier if Maric had raised you alongside Cailan. We will never know. But please believe me when I say I felt I had no other choice, and that it broke my heart to leave you.”

“And then you must have had to leave the Wardens and go back to the Circle,” Alistair whispered, seeing it all too clearly. It wasn't fair. It really wasn't. And Fiona was in her fifties now, she must have only been in her early twenties then, she'd been so young to have to make decisions like that. Admittedly, Alistair had been younger when he'd been flung into a Blight with his friends and mentor dead, but he'd let Lyra make the really hard decisions. And then thrown a fit when she'd made one he didn't like and walked out. But Alistair had had ten years to regret that one. The experience made it far harder to judge someone else who'd also had some hard choices to make.

Fiona nodded.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “But I never could quite let go. Nor could Duncan. He stayed with me throughout the pregnancy, put up with my constant whining, was the only one who didn't seem to resent me for losing the taint, and he loved you. I had no idea the man would be good with babies, but he had a way with you. He doted on you, and after I had to return to Weisshaupt, he got himself a posting with the new Ferelden Grey Wardens and stayed to keep an eye on you. Son, he loved you as much as I did.”

What. Just… what? Duncan?? Had known him as a baby, had known he was the son of the Grand Enchanter? 

Duncan who was part-Rivaini, born in Highever… Duncan who had evidently helped raise him – and given him his name. Duncan had loved him from the start. Duncan hadn’t just been like a father figure to him, Duncan had in a very real sense been his third parent, and Alistair felt his heart breaking all over again at the thought of what he’d lost and not realised.

Duncan had clearly never known how to talk to him about it, or possibly Fiona had told him not to, but it explained so much. Yearly visits around his birthday, ostensibly to see if Redcliffe had any recruits from the Wardens… but he'd always made a point to spend some time with Alistair, tell him about the Wardens, give a little weapons training, quietly encouraging him and helping him feel that at least someone liked him. Arlessa Isolde had told him not to be a fool, Duncan just wanted a future warrior for the Wardens, but Alistair had asked Duncan on his next visit. And Duncan had knelt down and told him he could conscript any man in the castle if he needed one, but he spent time with Alistair because he wanted to.

He'd not seen much of Duncan while in the Chantry's care, but once he'd been enlisted as a Templar recruit, Duncan started showing up more often, and when Alistair had turned eighteen and decided to participate in the tournament thrown in Duncan's honour, because he'd just had to watch a young mage turned into an abomination and killed at her Harrowing and would rather deal with darkspawn than go through that again, Duncan had promptly recruited him. After Alistair survived the Joining, Duncan had taken him under his wing and Alistair had been his constant companion ever after. Until Ostagar.

Alistair had loved and looked up to that man like no one else, even if he'd felt Duncan had perhaps coddled him a bit… but things were rapidly becoming clear. Because Duncan had pushed him away as a lover, yes, and Alistair had always assumed it was because Duncan disapproved of the idea, found it revolting, found it shameful and disgusting and was ashamed of and disgusted with Alistair for even thinking about it. But if Duncan was in fact the third parent Alistair never knew he had... oh Maker, Alistair had completely misinterpreted things, Duncan had clearly been too embarrassed to bring it up, but if they had, either of them, been brave enough to say something...

“You knew Duncan,” Alistair gasped. “Duncan… knew me? Knew who I was?”

“He knew,” Fiona said quietly. “We'd exchanged letters over the years. He wanted to tell you after conscripting you. I didn't agree, tried to talk him out of it… but he was insistent. Then the Blight took his attention… and then Ostagar happened. I feared the worst. It was only after the Archdemon's fall that I heard there'd been a Warden called Alistair helping out but no one seemed to know what had become of you. I knew I'd lost my oldest friend. And I feared my son was gone too. Yet here you are.”

Alistair always had had a sense Duncan had wanted to tell him something. A sense he meant more than any old recruit – why else had Alistair felt safe enough to try and kiss him that one time? He'd been afraid to say anything the morning after – too ashamed, too guilty, and Duncan likely hadn't known how to talk to him about it either. If they'd only got over themselves and talked about it. He could have learned his mother was alive years ago, and the grief he thought he'd processed hit him all over again.

“Why didn't _he_ raise me?” Alistair cried. “Or… you could both have left the Wardens, gone to my father, you could have been Court Enchanter, Duncan could have protected you from Loghain. Or you could have just run away, just the two of you and me. I'd have loved having Duncan as a dad...”

Whispered words of sorrow and apologies from Fiona, who'd taken him in her arms again, not even trying to explain it, just apologising, and he heard the grief in her voice and realised he couldn't hold it against her.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “It just isn't fair.”

“No,” Fiona said softly. “It was not. Our last night with you, Duncan… held you in his arms and whispered to me was I sure we couldn't keep you? He suggested running away together, said he'd marry me if I wanted, he'd help raise you. I told him it would never work. I told him a human-elf couple would attract the wrong sort of attention, and for an apostate mage, attention is the last thing they want. And that I couldn't ask him to give up the Wardens. Duncan's previous career had been as one of the best thieves in Val Royeaux, I knew what he'd do to earn a living if he left the Wardens. I couldn't do that to him. That, and we suspected a Blight might come to Ferelden within our lifetimes. Knowing that, how could we leave? So we made our choice. But know he vowed to watch over you, and that he grieved too when we left you behind. Alistair, my son, I am sorry. Maric and I wanted to spare you the burden of our legacies – a kingship he never wanted and the shame of elf-blood on my side. But… maybe you needed a family more than that.”

Alistair clutched her tight, and while he was angry, livid at having had the chance of a family ripped away from him by other people's decisions, the anger wasn't aimed at her.

“I'm not ashamed of being your son,” Alistair told her. “I don't care you're an elf. You're my mum and you're awesome. You're the bloody Grand Enchanter! Leader of the mage re- free mages. You're important and special and you changed the world. I'm so proud of you, you know. I just wish… wish I'd known… wish you could have...”

 _Wish you could have raised me, but the Chantry would never have let you keep me._ Circle mages couldn't keep their kids, Wardens generally had to give them up too, and elves weren't tolerated outside alienages. Because the Chantry held they were little better than heathens, further from the Maker than humans, needing to be kept subservient and controlled for their own good because they couldn't be trusted to rule themselves…

In that moment, Alistair knew who to direct his anger at and something he'd been thinking about for a while finally fell into place.

“Fuck the Chantry,” he said out loud. “I mean it, Mum. Fuck. The. Chantry.”

Fiona had let him go, staring up at him with her hand over her mouth, elven eyes faintly reflective in the half-light, and it was bright enough to see that she looked borderline appalled, despite not having attended a Chantry service in years.

“Alistair,” she whispered. “Alistair, this is dangerous territory...”

“I fought in a Blight, I'm not scared of the Chantry,” Alistair said, scowling. “And Elisif was declared a heretic and she's fine. They don't deserve my loyalty or my respect and I'm damn sure they don't have an ethical leg to stand on. I'm done with them, Mum. I'm deconverting. I'm… I don't know where that leaves me, whether Solas could tell me about the Dalish gods, or Elisif about the eight gods they've got in Tamriel. But I'm not Andrastian. Not any more.”

Silence from Fiona, and then Alistair realised she was laughing. Softly, under her breath, but laughing, pink blush staining her cheeks, but her eyes were dancing.

It wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.

“What?” he said, frowning. “What's so funny??”

Fiona shook her head, wiping her eyes. “It's not. I shouldn't laugh. Only… I was going to tell you off but it's occurred to me I once told a conclave of First Enchanters the exact same thing about the Divine and… Maker, you are taking after me after all.”

“You… what?” Alistair said faintly. “You… told the Divine where to go??”

Fiona nodded, drying her eyes and grinning at him. 

“I'm afraid so, my son. Oh dear, but we are neither of us going to the Maker's side, are we?”

If the Maker was really Akatosh the Father of Dragons, Alistair wasn't so certain about that. But he did know one thing.

“Don't worry, Mum. When it's my time, I'll come and find you. We can wander the Fade with the rest of the damned together.”

Fiona did smile then, a brilliant beautiful smile of pride as she took his hand, holding it tight as she gazed up at him, happier than he'd ever seen her.

“We shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond,” Fiona said, quoting the Chant… up to a point. “For there is no darkness when I look in your eyes and nothing I have wrought will be lost if I have anything to do with it.”

“Fairly certain that's not how it goes,” Alistair said, smile on his face, arm round his mother, and he'd never felt so happy. He had a mother. And he loved her. Not just because she was his mum, but because she was brilliant. 

_I'm going to tell the world you're my mum, and I think I might call myself Alistair Fionasson from now on._

Absolutely nothing could ruin his night. Alas, as was frequently the case, Alistair was about to be proved wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a total sucker for family reunions. Alistair's got his mum! Fiona's got her now-thirty-something baby! Whatever happens, they've got each other.
> 
> And given that we all know what happens next in the game, they will need it.
> 
> ETA: I rewrote the back half of this, because the scene felt wrong. I like the result! Alistair's realistically angry at being lied to, but still forgives Fiona.
> 
> The bit about Alistair getting his name from a dog was not my idea, I saw it on Tumblr somewhere with someone claiming it was canon, but I can’t trace a source.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A victory, a party, a time to relax and think about what happens next, right? Wrong. Elisif has enemies she didn't know about, and you cannot steal a Fade-opening Mark, a mage rebellion and undo someone's hard work breaking the sky open without consequences...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, after the fluff of last chapter, here is the exciting one. Where everything happens at once, and Elisif finds out why she's really in Thedas. That's right, it's In Your Heart Shall Burn! Hold on tight. It's pretty wild.

Elisif was leaning on Madanach's shoulder, still in her heavy armour, the Akaviri's finest and still her favourite for adventures away from Solitude. This certainly counted… although perhaps it might be ending soon. She gazed up at where the Breach had once been, certain it had been too easy, in the end.

“Do you think that was it?” Elisif whispered. “What Kyne, Flemeth, whatever her name was, wanted?”

“I imagine so,” Madanach said, arm round her and kissing her on the cheek. “We'll give it some time to settle things, see what happens, ensure things aren't going to completely fall over. And then… we could go home if you want.”

Elisif looked up, eyes widening as she realised Madanach had reached into his belt pouch and produced an amulet, much like one that had once whisked her from Solitude to Madanach's war camp in Eastmarch in minutes.

“You brought a homing amulet,” she whispered. Madanach grinned.

“Of course I did,” he purred. “You didn't think I'd neglect that little detail, did you? Emergency channel for me and whoever I'm touching, straight back to Keirine's portal in Hag's End. And Eola thinks she could open a portal too, although the magic in question would likely be regarded as unsavoury by our new friends. That said, she also thinks lyrium might make a good substitute, and she was definitely eyeing up your mark. The rite will take some doing, but the Inquisition could lay hands on the resources if it had to. One portal trip later and we're all back in the Reach with some fascinating stories and the location of a new land. The Empire will love us. The East Empire will love us. Kaie and the Bank of Markarth will be raking it in and praising our names. The scholars will be having hysterics. Can you imagine Calcelmo's reaction when he finds out about dwarves??”

Elisif could indeed and secretly she looked forward to being there when someone told Calcelmo about Orzammar. It would be a research opportunity well-deserved. All the same, she had to wonder what Orzammar would think about Calcelmo, and it occurred to her that with the present emergency over, she now had to think about how Tamriel and Thedas interacted in the future. She was the future Empress. She'd have to make the decisions. She'd certainly get summoned to Cyrodiil to account for her absence and make a full report. 

Anything she might have thought about doing on the domestic front back home had probably just been stalled indefinitely. The Empire was going to need a whole new layer of bureaucracy just for dealing with Thedas. And she had no idea how it was going to pan out.

“I think we might not be able to leave just yet,” Elisif said quietly. “I have a feeling I might need to stay. But we could send Eola or Liriel back. Once we've got a portal connection, we could start bringing Tamrielic special agents through, Legion scouts, some of the Blades. Have infrastructure in place before we start making official overtures to Thedas's leaders. At the moment the only places I know for sure we could approach are Kirkwall and Ferelden. Kirkwall from the sound if it is leaderless and in trouble, they'd take help from anyone and Varric's got contacts everywhere. And I could work something out with Anora. Alistair tells me Ferelden's main worry is Orlais invading again once the war's settled – I think Anora might find an alliance with Tamriel of great interest.”

“Maybe,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “All the same, the sooner we re-establish contact the better. Sithis knows what's happening back home, but you not being there is likely to destabilise everything. The Empire was nervous because the Emperor is an old man with no heirs. Then you come along and everyone wants to be your best friend, and even the possible rivals are acknowledging that no one else is in a stronger position. Then you're gone. And politics hates a vacuum.”

Elisif did not want to think about it.

“I can't deal with this tonight, Madanach,” Elisif said, tightening her grip on him and burying her face in his chest. “Can we just enjoy tonight?”

Laughter and her husband kissed her hair and cuddled her.

“Yes. And if no one else needs us for anything, I think we might even be able to slip away early,” Madanach murmured and that sounded like a fine idea to Elisif. Never mind that not far away she could hear Cicero whining to Eola and Cassandra that why when the Chanters recited the Chant of Light it was 'a holy act' and 'a sign of devotion to the Maker', but when Cicero did it, it was 'creepy' and 'inappropriate'? Elisif was sure they could deal with him. Never mind that Alistair couldn't be hers. She'd go home and move on, and he'd probably find someone else (even if part of her was whispering no, he was deeply troubled, he'd likely head off into the unknown and never be seen again).

Life would go on as it always did. So Elisif closed her eyes and smiled. She'd saved the world again. It was a nice feeling.

Until alarm bells suddenly started ringing, the music stopped and everyone sat up, panic starting to erupt as every warrior in Haven promptly ran for their weapons.

Elisif was grateful she'd still got her weapons to hand, and that Madanach likewise was still in his battle gear.

“Herald!” Cassandra was calling, probably relieved not to have to deal with Cicero's complaining about why constant questions to the Chantry priests regarding if there was such a thing as the Unmaker were bothering people. “Herald, we need you!”

Elisif was already on her way, and Madanach was behind her, staring out into the distance at the torchlights in the distance. A lot of torchlights. Marching on Haven.

“Cullen, what's happening!” Elisif cried, fighting down the feeling of panic as she made for the gate, where her military commander was conferring with her diplomat, Borkul standing behind Josephine and staring grimly out at the oncoming storm. “What's going on?”

“Large force, minutes away, no idea who sent them but the scout reports I've got think it might be Templars,” Cullen admitted.

“Templars!” Josephine gasped. “Is this the Order's response?? To attack blindly? What banner are they marching under.”

Cullen looked extremely uncomfortable as he admitted there was no banner.

“None??” Josephine said, confused, because armies needed funding and organisation, which meant noble backers, which meant banners. Nobles just did not send troops out in those numbers without making sure everyone knew whose strength was on the march. Even the Templars would have had Templar banners.

“None, and we know nothing about them other than that we're under attack,” Cullen said, not looking optimistic. “Herald, what do you sugge-”

Hammering on the gates, and a voice cried out, a young male one that Elisif swore she'd heard before.

“You need to let me in! I'm trying to help you, but you need to open the gates!” he cried, and Elisif realised with horror where she knew him from. He was the young boy who'd brought the news of Haven's destruction in that dark future. The news of Maia's death. Elisif felt her throat closing up at the mere thought. 

“Let him in!” she cried. “He's telling the truth!”

The gates swung open and the blonde boy in the wide hat came in, the bodies of a few enemy scouts lying behind him. He'd been busy already.

“I came to warn you,” Cole gasped, suddenly appearing at her side without seeming to have moved. “About the Elder One. He wants to hurt you. You… probably already know.”

Elisif had worked that one out, yes.

“Who is he. Why is he here,” Elisif said, desperate for answers, any answers. Anything that might save Maia.

“There,” Cole whispered, pointing to a rocky outcropping by the lake, which meant the outer perimeter was overwhelmed already, in fact she could see the vanguard moving down the track towards them. Standing there was a silhouette out of nightmare, an eight-foot tall thing, with mottled grey-ish skin, claws for hands, red lyrium studded in his skin, and diseased flesh bulging out of a vulnerable ribcage.

“What is that??” Elisif whispered, feeling sickened by the sight of it. It surely wasn't human, not any more.

“It's a darkspawn,” Madanach said quietly, looking fairly revolted himself. “A mage darkspawn, I think. And who's that with him in the armour?”

“I know him,” Cullen said, gritting his teeth in rage. “Samson. I served with him in Kirkwall until Meredith kicked him out. He's involved in _this?_ With that _thing?_ ”

“Corypheus,” Varric said grimly, having come to see more. “Shit, Blue-eyes. I've never liked being wrong, but this is the worst. We killed him, I swear, how can he be back?”

“You took his mages,” Cole said matter-of-factly, turning back to Elisif and suddenly being inches away from her. “He's very angry that you took his mages.”

Elisif's eyes turned to the mage camp, and while you couldn't get to the mage camp directly from the outer gates and the main force was coming to Haven itself, some of the soldiers had clearly managed to scale the cliffs and attack the camp, because she could hear screaming across the lake and see fireballs flying. And then she remembered who was over there.

“Maia's in that camp!” she cried. “We sent her with Bethany so we could have a night to ourselves...”

Madanach had actually whimpered, looking half-broken already, and it was Eola who actually reacted.

“Cicero, go,” was all she said, smacking Cicero on the back, and Cicero promptly summoned Arvak, vaulted onto the demon horse's back and galloped off for the mage camp.

“He'll find her,” Eola said confidently, ignoring Cassandra demanding to know what her husband had just done. “Da? Plan of attack?”

“Right,” Madanach said, recovering himself. “Round up every mage in Haven, we're using that Targeted Fire Storm and hang the Chantry's reaction to the blood linking. Cullen, need your soldiers in position. If we can get to the trebuchets, maybe...”

Maybe those ice-laden hills that Elisif had been concerned might be ready to loose an avalanche might be a good thing. 

“Fire them into the mountains, bring a landslide down on them,” Elisif said, reaching for her weapons. “I'm on it, Cullen.”

“Elisif, this is…” Cassandra shook her head and gave in, seeing Elisif was determined. “Fine, but I am coming with you.”

“And me,” Eola said. “You'll need my help.”

Varric volunteered too, Bianca at his back, and Madanach patted Borkul and told him to help Elisif.

“They're not here yet, I need you protecting my wife,” he told him. Borkul grinned back, eager to finally do some killing.

“I got this one, boss,” Borkul growled. “Just let me talk to Josie for a second. Josie, you need to go to the Chantry and stay there. This ain't a parley, they're not here to talk.”

“What about you?” Josephine cried, and Borkul squeezed her shoulders, actually smiling.

“I got this, Josie. Go on, go.” 

Josephine didn't like the idea of Borkul running headlong into battle like that, but she was no fighter and knew it. So Josephine ran for safety, and Madanach gave Elisif a quick kiss goodbye and ran to organise the mages, while Cullen had likewise gone to rally the troops, including arranging trebuchet crews to start firing.

Leaving Elisif with Eola, Borkul, Cassandra and Varric and the job of keeping the Templar vanguard off her trebuchets.

“I'd give a speech but you know the stakes,” Elisif told them. “Do what you have to, just keep them off our people.”

Eola and Borkul in particular looked delighted, and Eola had reached into a belt-pouch and swallowed something that looked like cured meat. Why she'd be hungry at a time like this, Elisif didn't know and didn't want to, and they all had other concerns.

Leading the charge, screaming Unrelenting Force into the first wave of red Templars, deformed like the thing they served, Elisif went out to fight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The first Alistair and Fiona knew of it was the sound of crying out and the gatehouse exploding. Then the screaming from the mage camp as the first Templars started scaling down the cliffs.

“What in the name of...” Alistair began, only pausing because he didn't know the appropriate member of the Eight that dealt with unexpected violence. Fiona was already grabbing her staff, shouting for her senior mages.

Alistair staggered out after her, already seeing tents on fire and spells soaring through the air and soldiers invading the camp… soldiers in Templar armour but they looked… red? 

Worse, this wasn't even the main force. This was a diversionary force to keep the mages busy while the main force marched on towards Haven. Alistair could hear alarm bells ringing and activity in the village, but despite all Elisif's preparations, Haven was not a fortress and was never intended to stand up to an army this size.

And then the sound of crying children distracted him as he saw Bethany tending to her apprentices, dressing them in a hurry and bundling them out of the tent. One of them took one look at him and flung herself on to him.

“ALISTAAAAIIIIRRRR!” Maia howled. “Alistair, I'm scared, what's happening?”

“I don't know,” Alistair whispered, instinctively kneeling down and scooping her up. “Mum, where do you need me.”

Fiona had been snapping out orders to her best mages to hold the line and for everyone else to grab what supplies they could and fall back to Haven. Hearing her son's voice and ignoring Bethany looking up sharply and whispering 'mum?', she turned and her eyes fell on Maia.

“Get that little one to her parents immediately,” Fiona said firmly. “Bethany, take these two and go with him. Blackwall, with me, we'll need all the help we can get.”

“But what about you??” Alistair cried, not liking the idea of leaving his mother behind.

“My mages need me, and that little girl needs her mother,” Fiona told him sternly. “Alistair, go, every second you wait is costing lives. We will fall back as soon as everyone else is clear and join you. GO!”

“Right,” Alistair whispered, lump in his throat because yes Maia needed her mother, but so did he and he didn't want to leave her. But he had very little choice. “I – I'll see you later.”

Fiona smiled back and turned away, running away to help with the defence. Beside him, Bethany had picked up little Lucy, with Suzette holding her hand, and was moving for the path to Haven.

Alistair had little choice but to follow, Maia in his arms clinging on to him and crying.

“Alistair, there's monsters, don't let the monsters get me!” Maia was sobbing.

“I won't,” Alistair whispered, clutching her tight and racing through the night, Bethany alongside him, neither wanting to stop for a second. At least Suzette could just about keep up and the other two were small and easy to carry. As long as the red Templars didn't break through what looked like a spirited defence up near the trebuchets, all would be well.

They were about half way to Haven when a demonic glowing purple skeleton horse reared up out of the darkness, and Alistair had a hand to his sword, Bethany raising her staff to cast… and then Maia reached out and cried “Arvak!”, frantically wriggling to get down.

“Hello pretty Alistair!” Cicero cooed from where he was sitting astride said glowing demon horse which apparently had a name. Alistair didn't even want to know where the demon horse had come from, but despite Cicero being a demented little nutcase with knives, Alistair was sort of getting used to him. Alistair might have his own problems but being next to Cicero, he always felt so much more sane and normal.

“Hello,” Alistair said faintly. “Er… where's Elisif? I've got something for her.” He held up Maia, who was reaching out to Cicero, not seeming to care he was a demented maniac on a skeletal horse. 

Cicero glanced over at the trebuchets, where Unrelenting Force suddenly echoed out, followed by Eola shouting “come to me, my pretties!” 

“They are holding the line while Madanach prepares to unleash fiery death and then I think Elisif has something planned with the trebuchets,” Cicero said cheerfully. “Do not fear, give Maia to me, I will take her to safety.” 

“What about these two?” Bethany cried, dragging the other girls forward. “You can't leave them!”

Cicero had taken Maia off Alistair, seated her in front of him, and was frowning.

“Cicero's orders were for Maia alone, there is not room on Arvak for more,” Cicero said, pursing his lips.

“Cicero, they're kids!” Alistair cried, at the same time as Maia cried out for her friends. Ironically it was probably that that swung Cicero's opinion.

“Ugh, fine, Cicero will take them too, but if they fall off, Cicero is not stopping to pick them up,” Cicero sighed. It was about as good as they could hope for, and soon Lucy was perched in front of Maia, and Suzette behind Cicero, and Cicero was trotting off on Arvak.

“Come on,” Bethany whispered, grabbing Alistair's arm and preparing to run after Cicero. Alistair hesitated, turning back to the camp where his mother was fighting still.

“We should go back, help Fiona,” he whispered, even though he knew it was too late to help. The camp was blazing, a steady stream of fleeing non-combatants evacuating up the path behind them, apprentices, Tranquil, elders forming a rearguard, because often an elderly mage was the most fearsome to fight. No way of making out who was still fighting, although spells were still firing from time to time, the source retreating as mages killed enemies then fell back.

“It's too late, you won't get back there in time to be any use now,” Bethany said quietly. “She really is your mother, isn't she?”

“Yeah,” Alistair whispered. “I mean, I don't have proof, but she looked really emotional and why would she lie about that?? She only just told me. She had to give me up and she didn't want me to know I was elf-blooded so she made sure I never knew who she was. But she couldn't keep it to herself any more.”

Bethany touched his arm, a little gesture of comfort that Alistair appreciated. It wouldn't help but it was kind of her. 

“She's the Grand Enchanter, she'll survive,” Bethany told him. “But we won't if we stand around chatting – Alistair, look out!”

It turned out the glowing purple horse had attracted attention and some of the Templars had diverted, some trying to intercept Cicero, and another party coming right for them.

Bethany ignored the ones coming for her and raised her staff to cast a force spell at the ones going for Cicero.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” 

The unfortunate Templars who'd thought the crazy singing apparently fire-breathing jester was an easy target fell back as fire engulfed them, and then Bethany's force spell smashed into the ice, cracked it and sent Templars plunging into the lake. All the way behind them, mages were copying Bethany, force spells and fire spells shattering the ice and sending Templars to their deaths. And as the surviving vanguard reached the shore, Alistair unleashed a little force of his own.

“FUS RO DAH!”

The entire wave of Templars was swept back, into the water, all dying an icy death and Alistair shivered at just how much he'd enjoyed doing that. Never mind that if not for Duncan, he might have ended his days as one of those men. But as it was, he'd avoided that fate, and part of him was gleefully exclaiming that their Thu'um was no match for his.

Cheering mages behind him, and a relieved Bethany taking his arm and leading him on, and Alistair had no time to reflect on this. They had to get moving.

Cicero had ridden Arvak straight through the gates of Haven, not even bothering to dismount. Alistair staggered after through the trees, and arrived at the gates to see Inquisition soldiers under Cullen's command loading the trebuchet and aiming it.

“Where's Elisif?” Alistair gasped, not caring that she was married, not caring that lusting after her was wrong and sinful in the eyes of the Maker. She was his fellow Dragonborn and damned if he was leaving without making sure she was all right. Bad enough he'd had to abandon his mother.

“At the other trebuchet,” Cullen told him. “It wasn't firing. I have a feeling the enemy had got there first.”

Alistair promptly sprinted off towards it, because he wasn't letting Elisif hold the line on her own. Bethany swore and sprinted after him, yelling for him to wait for her.

Alistair arrived at the trebuchet to see dead Templars everywhere, and Borkul and Cassandra winding it back under Elisif's supervision, before Eola levitated its load into the bowl. Behind her were two undead skeletal warriors with two-handed war-axes and vaguely Avvar-esque helmets on.

Alistair truly did not want to know. Sadly for him, Bethany saw Varric keeping watch and immediately asked him.

“Ah. Yeah. They're One-Eye's,” Varric explained. “Seems Mr. Herald's grown-up little girl is some sort of necromancer witch. She reckons, get this, Cicero once had to venture into a realm of the Fade in order to stop some vampire lord taking over the world, and came back with several priceless tomes on forbidden dark magic and an undead horse. Some people might have been put off by that but not Daddy's Little Witch-Princess.”

“We've seen the horse,” Alistair volunteered, and Bethany just shook her head.

“It saved my kids' lives, I'm not complaining,” Bethany sighed. “All the same, the Chantry would make her Tranquil on the spot.”

“They're not here,” Alistair said, wondering if old Avernus was still at Soldier's Peak and if he'd want to share notes with Eola, and what Lyra would make of her. “We're fighting for our lives here, I don't give a flying fuck if we have to use necromancy to do it.”

Elisif chose that moment to loose the trebuchet, sending its load firing into the mountain. The other one did likewise, and then a fire glyph, several fire glyphs, swept over the valley, disappearing onto the massed army beyond.

Rocks hit snow, the mountains rumbled, and as snow poured down to block Haven's main access road, burying the advancing soldiers, the valley beyond exploded in fire, several mushroom clouds going up in succession, a fire storm devastating everything in its wake.

Screams of the vanquished echoed round the valley and then all was silence.

And then a mighty cheer went up round Haven, as everyone realised they might just have won after all. Back behind Haven's fences, mages who'd been partying with the rest barely an hour ago healed their hands and stared in stunned amazement as everyone else cheered around them and embraced them as heroes, and if Vivienne eyed the slashes on her shoulders and wondered just what she'd helped unleash, and Solas closed his eyes and knew all too well, Dorian at least was just telling a group of admirers it was nothing, really, and Liriel was piously telling all and sundry that Auriel was watching over them. 

“Don't know about Auriel, looks to me like you guys did that all on your own,” Iron Bull was saying as he patted Liriel on the back. “See, Tam, this is why you're all called Saarebas back home. Dangerous things. Is it wrong that that was really, _really,_ fucking awesome?”

Liriel just smiled and decided to take that as a compliment. Meanwhile Elisif was stepping down from the trebuchet, a victorious Dragonborn warrior-queen, and her eyes fell on Alistair. Who was standing there watching her, seeing her just having successfully led a battle to annihilate their foes, and was desperately trying to remember why there was a reason he shouldn't just kiss her and claim her as his mate after all.

“Alistair,” Elisif said, seeming utterly unsurprised to see him… but he could tell she was nervous under that queenly demeanour. “Do I have you to thank for dealing with the ones that broke off from attacking us?”

“Yes,” said Alistair, quietly wishing the voice in his head howling at him to claim her, she was his, would _shut up_. “I mean, Bethany actually broke the ice and the other mages helped too. And Cicero breathed fire on the ones that were going after him and Maia – Elisif, did you know he can breathe fire??”

“Yes, and there are very strict rules on when and where he's permitted to do it,” Elisif said firmly. “I know about the horse too, before you ask. It's disconcerting but not actually dangerous.” Her face softened as she moved on to her next question. “Did he get Maia to safety.”

“Yes, and the other kids too,” Bethany said, coming to join him. “Thank you for sending him, Your Worship.”

Elisif flinched a little at the title but she inclined her head, acknowledging it.

“It was Eola's idea, actually, she kept her head when I was panicking a bit,” Elisif admitted, indicating Eola… who was frowning at the crystal star she had clipped to her belt.

“Hey, Elisif, take a look at this,” Eola said, peering at it, and then glancing up to see Bethany and Alistair watching, and Cassandra staring at her very suspiciously, and promptly switched back to Tamrielic.

She was showing Elisif the star and explaining something, gesticulating fiercely and then holding up a black crystal that just had wrong written all over it, even if it wasn't glowing while the light crystal was.

Elisif seemed dumbfounded, clearly disbelieving then asking more questions. Eola shrugged and shook her head, before indicating a corpse. Her response included the word 'lyrium'. Odd that she'd use the Thedosian word for it though. Did Tamrielic not have a word for lyrium? Alistair found that hard to believe… unless Tamriel had no lyrium. Which would be even weirder.

“This is horrible,” Elisif whispered, switching back to Thedosian for everyone else's benefit. “I swear, I am killing Corypheus myself, and Samson too, for what they've done.”

“Good,” Borkul grunted. “They fight us, we punish them.”

Elisif shook her head sorrowfully, staring at the Templar corpses, red monstrosities that had once been men, and she turned to walk away, looking sick to the stomach. Alistair didn't know what Eola had told her but Elisif looked horrified and Alistair just wanted to make it all better for her. 

“Are you alright?” he asked as she passed. Elisif looked up and nodded, and then she glanced up at the sky and cried out. 

“Look out!” Elisif cried, and it was only Bethany's barrier that saved their lives as a dark shape swept over them and then the trebuchet exploded.

Alistair held on to Elisif as the blast flung them to the ground, the snow cushioning their fall, but all the same, the impact hurt. As another blast took out the other trebuchet, the screaming started anew in Haven.

“Is that an Archdemon??” Cassandra cried, staring at Alistair. And Alistair stared up at the sky, recalling dreams from the Blight, feeling sickened himself as he realised his Blight-sense was screaming at him, a far stronger reaction than he'd get from an ordinary darkspawn or a fellow Warden. Even his amulet's muting effect didn't stop it.

“It's Blighted,” Alistair confirmed. “And… it's a dragon. But it doesn't feel quite like an Archdemon does. I only ever saw the one from the Fifth Blight in dreams, but I think this might just be a dragon with the Blight. Maybe.”

“Fine, then we kill it.” That was Eola, who'd got to her feet and run over, helping Elisif to her feet. “Come on, Dragonborns. Do your job. You've got this one, right?”

“Yes,” said Elisif faintly. “I mean… yes of course I have. Get yourselves to safety, let me handle the dragon.”

“Bollocks am I, I'm not leaving you,” Alistair said firmly. 

“Nor I,” Cassandra said, in a voice you did not argue with.

“If you think I'm showing my face to Madanach and telling him I left his wife to fight the dragon on her own, you're insane,” Borkul growled. “I'd rather take my chances with the dragon.”

Bethany and Varric also held their ground, Varric announcing someone would need to write the story afterwards so he needed to remember it, and Bethany sighing and saying someone sensible needed to keep an eye on them.

“Best get to it then,” Eola said, raising her staff. “It's coming round again!”

Everyone readied their weapons, Elisif telling them to spread out, and then she took a deep breath and Shouted it down.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

The Shout hit the dragon square on, enveloping it in blue light… which then faded, and the dragon breathed its corruption right at her.

Alistair promptly tackled her, grabbing her waist and rolling her over as they rolled out of reach, and it was Eola's fireballs that actually did more damage as it soared overhead.

“Was that supposed to do something, Blue-eyes?” Varric shouted, taking a shot with Bianca.

“It was supposed to make it crash!” Elisif cried, her confidence in fighting dragons having taken an unexpected knock. “Why didn't it work??”

“Never mind that!” Cassandra shouted, yanking Elisif up then Alistair. “We need to get back to Haven and regroup! Now, before it comes back!”

Numb, Elisif nodded, not saying anything as Alistair took her arm and led her off. The fire and confidence had just gone out of her completely. Alistair had never seen her like this, and he hated it. It just didn't seem like her.

“We'll kill it anyway, you'll see,” he whispered to her, hastening her onwards while Cassandra and Borkul paused to help Harritt get his forge open so he could rescue supplies.

Cullen was at the gate shouting for everyone to get inside and get to the Chantry for safety, even as it came swooping back, seeming to zero in on Elisif. Alistair raised his shield to try and fend it off, and Eola had dismissed her two-handed warriors in favour of two black skeletons with bows.

And then a powerful lightning spell arced over their heads, shocking the dragon before it could attack and forcing it to veer off course. It was Elisif who turned first to see who it was.

“Grand Enchanter!” Elisif gasped, smiling. “You're all right!”

Fiona was there, Blackwall at her side and the last of the mages with her.

“We did what we could but more are coming,” Fiona said grimly. “That fire storm has decimated their ranks, but they have a dragon. We need to get under cover – oof!”

Alistair had rushed forward and hugged her, tears in his eyes.

“You're all right,” he said roughly. “I was so worried.”

Fiona patted his back and kissed his cheek.

“I am all right, _mon fils,_ ” Fiona said gently. “Shall we get to safety while that is still the case?”

Alistair nodded, barely aware of Elisif making little squealing noises, and Blackwall asking Bethany if he'd missed something, and Bethany assuring him he'd missed nothing but apparently Fiona was Alistair's mother. And Varric was telling everyone he could never have put this in an actual story, it was just too unlikely.

And so they raced back through Haven, buildings on fire and with the roofs caved in – except where they were smoking ice-encrusted ruins that had been extinguished with ice magic. The apothecary area in particular looked like it had been frozen solid, flammable liquid flashfrozen just inches from the potions jars.

It seemed Madanach had got there ahead of them, putting out the fires and escorting townsfolk to safety. Elisif silently blessed her husband for taking charge in her absence. Maybe he wasn't a legendary hero, but he was skilled, organised, and didn't lose his head under pressure, and he'd saved lives, no doubt.

All the same, the bodies scattered around told their own story, and how were they supposed to rebuild after this?? Saving the Inquisition was going to be a tall order now.

But the Chantry was up ahead, and while there were Templar bodies here that had come down from the hills to ambush them, the defenders had done their work well. Elisif recognised the knife-work on some of the corpses as Cicero's, and those arrows were Leliana's… and there were a few glowing Daedric ones summoned from Oblivion, Liriel's work.

Her allies had done their jobs well, but Elisif had a feeling it wouldn't be enough. But the dragon was coming back, and so Elisif ran into the Chantry along with everyone else, Cullen finally closing the doors as the survivors took refuge.

Elisif surveyed the remains of the Inquisition. Workers, mages, families, Templars, soldiers, merchants and artisans, everyone crammed into the Chantry, mage healers tending to the wounded, and Adan doing what he could with what they'd been able to salvage. 

But her eyes looked for two people above all, and they were coming towards her, Maia with her arms outstretched and wailing for her in tears, and Madanach behind her, face unreadable.

Elisif knelt and scooped up her poor, terrified baby, holding her tight, mind full of that terrible vision of the last stand in the Chantry in which Maia was the last one left, having seen everyone die and knowing Mama was gone and trying to be brave so she'd go to Sovngarde and see her mama again.

Elisif could not let that come to pass, and she held her baby tight, promising softly that she was here, they were safe now.

They absolutely were not, but it seemed to calm Maia a little, and then Madanach was there, saying nothing but just putting his arms around them both.

“We need a miracle, Elisif,” Madanach murmured in her ear. “Specifically we need that dragon dead – aren't you supposed to be a dragonslayer with the Thu'um??”

“It didn't work,” Elisif whispered. “Dragonrend didn't work and the thing won't land.”

“Then we find an alternate strategy,” Madanach said softly. “Ranged fighters then. I'll take Sera, Cicero, Liriel, Vivienne – we'll get that thing out of the sky.”

Elisif sobbed as she tightened her grip on him, because she had a feeling they'd not survive and she couldn't lose Madanach.

She looked up to see Cullen there, looking grim.

“Cullen, give me ideas, anything!” Elisif gasped. Cullen did not look hopeful.

“That dragon stole back any time you might have bought us,” Cullen said, shaking his head. “The army's likely been savaged but it won't be destroyed and Corypheus himself is still out there. We've lost supplies, people, Haven's overrun. Elisif, we're trapped here.”

“There must be something we can do,” Elisif whispered. Cullen shook his head, lowering his voice so he wasn't overheard.

“There's one trebuchet left. A small party could get out there, turn it around and unleash it on the mountains, taking Corypheus down that way.”

“What?” Madanach snapped, thinking this through. “It'll bury Haven! We'll all die! Screw that, Cullen, I will go out there and fight that dragon myself if I have to.”

“Madanach, no,” Elisif gasped, just as Maia whimpered 'daddy!' and reached out for him. And then a boy's voice spoke, quietly but everyone heard it nonetheless.

“He's not here for you. He wants the mark. He's after the Herald. He'll kill everyone to get to her but it's her he wants. He doesn't care about Haven or anything else. Just Elisif.”

Elisif heard it and knew then where this was going. A Dragonborn whose Thu'um had failed her for the first time, but she knew her duty and knew what she had to do. Clutching Maia to her, she kissed her daughter and held her tight.

“I love you, my pixie,” she whispered. “You're my brave girl and I love you so much. I'm giving you to your daddy, and he's going to look after you. And you need to be good and not misbehave and give him lots of cuddles, because he might get lonely otherwise.”

“OK, Mama,” Maia whispered as Elisif kissed her again and set her down, tears in her eyes, Maia not knowing what was going on but Madanach guessing all too well, because he'd been here before.

“No,” Madanach said firmly. “No, you are not doing this, this is insane, you're not just walking out there and surrendering, I refuse to allow...”

“He's not going to just take you and let us survive,” Cullen said, frowning. “He'll want to finish the job.”

“I never said anything about surrendering,” Elisif said, folding her arms. “I intend to fight. Victory or Sovngarde. And I've killed dragons without Dragonrend. I'll do it again. It'll be easier with you out of the way.”

Madanach looked like he was going to argue again, and then Cole spoke once more. He was kneeling next to none other than Chancellor Roderick, who'd been run through by a red Templar who'd got into Haven, and looked like he was bleeding out, red staining white Chantry robes. 

“The wound went deep. He's going to die,” Cole explained. “But he wants to say something. He remembers something.”

The entire building shook, dust falling from the ceiling, and Elisif decided anything could help at this point.

“Chancellor,” Elisif said, kneeling in front of him. “What is it?”

“The pilgrimage,” Roderick gasped, every breath paining him. “I came here… a few years ago… when Her Holiness came to… open the Temple for… It was summer. I went for a walk, found the mountain path. It was overgrown. All the others… died at the Conclave. I'm the only one… who remembers. Take the path… I will show you the way.”

“There's an escape route,” Elisif gasped, seeing hope dawning. Maybe not for her, but a plan was forming. A plan that did not involve everyone dying in a last stand. A plan that might save Maia. “Cullen. Organise everyone. You're all evacuating by this route. You need to survive, get to Orlais, warn people there. Josephine will know who can help. I don't care about their civil war, they need to know about this. You need to run. If Corypheus only wants me, then I'll go to him, hold the line, keep him busy while you escape.”

She waited for the inevitable explosion from Madanach but it didn't come. Instead she felt him approach, brushing her away as he knelt in front of Roderick.

“Congratulations, Roderick, the Maker is smiling on you,” Madanach announced, and Restoration magic flared at Madanach's fingertips, energy coming from the Fade or Aetherius or however magic worked, before Madanach unleashed it into Roderick's abdomen.

Roderick cried out as the golden light of Heal Other flowed through him, but it was there for only seconds before it was gone, leaving Roderick staring down at stained vestments… but whole skin.

“He's going to live!” Cole gasped, amazed. “Cold Chantry, uncaring, more for politics than anything useful, and Roderick's the worst… but you healed him anyway.”

“Can't have him expiring halfway up the track, can we,” Madanach growled, blushing slightly as he practically dragged Roderick to his feet and handed him over to Adan. “Get him a potion, he's going to guide us out of here.”

Roderick seemed unable to believe his luck as he stared back at Madanach.

“Thank you,” he said, confused.

“Ugh, don't make me regret it,” Madanach growled, waving Roderick away as he turned his attention back to Elisif.

“You're set on this, aren't you,” he said, outward gruffness masking a heartbreaking grief that brought tears to Elisif's eyes.

“I have to,” Elisif whispered. “If I'm with you, he'll hound you forever. If I'm out there facing him, you have time to get away. You have Maia. They might rally around the Herald's little girl who has her magic.”

Madanach closed his eyes, looking like he was about to cry, which even she was just not used to, and then he was hugging her, nearly crushing her ribs with the force of it.

“I'll know if you die,” he managed to say. “I will feel it. It'll… Mireen's just felt like a snapping noise in my mind and then I was alone, and all I felt was relief. I think yours is going to break my heart. Elisif, you can't die. You _can't_. They aren't going to let me in Sovngarde! I'd last about five minutes if they did!”

“I think you'd last at least half an hour, and I think they'd be telling tales of it for years and thanking you for providing such an entertaining evening,” Elisif whispered, teasing him. Madanach laughed softly, before lifting the Jagged Crown off her head and kissing her, pouring all of himself into the kiss. Elisif closed her eyes and kissed him back, because she had a feeling Sovngarde was waiting for her and she'd be seeing Tsun again before long. And it was breaking her heart, but she had no choice.

“ _Don't_ die,” Madanach told her as he let her go. Elisif nodded, not saying anything because she couldn't make a promise like that to him. And then she felt a presence at her back and a gauntleted hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Alistair there.

“I'm coming with you,” Alistair said, and that was when Fiona cried out.

“No, you can't!” Fiona cried. “He's not after you, you don't need to sacrifice yourself!”

“Yes, I – look, I can't just leave her!” Alistair cried, turning on his mother. “Corypheus is a darkspawn, I'm trained to fight them, I can do it. Elisif needs me. And Maia needs me to help guard her mother, don't you, little one?”

Maia was staring up at them all, clutching Frogella, wide-eyed and scared.

“Will you look after her?” Maia whispered. Alistair knelt down next to her and impulsively smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead.

“Yes, I promise,” Alistair said quietly. “I won't come back without her.”

Maia hugged him tight and let him go, apparently satisfied with that. Alistair stood up and glanced back at Fiona, who had tears in her eyes but apparently seemed to have relented.

“You take care, my son,” Fiona said, voice trembling. “Do _not_ sacrifice yourself for no reason.”

“I won't,” Alistair promised, embracing her one last time, and if whatever gods there were had only allowed him a few hours with his mother before he died, it was more than he'd ever hoped for and he treasured it dearly. Turning around, he saw Madanach and Elisif watching him with identical soppy looks on their faces.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona's my mum,” he said, and they just kept right on smiling. “And… you both knew, didn't you.”

“Saw it in that dark future,” Elisif admitted. “I only ever told Madanach. And when you were, er, upset, he sent you to her.”

“We knew she wouldn't turn you away,” Madanach said, grinning. “She was ashamed of her elf-blood, didn't want you knowing. I thought you needed a mother more than anything else, and I knew you'd cope with her being an elf.”

“You conniving bastard,” Alistair breathed, realising he'd been completely set up. Madanach didn't stop grinning, just nodding in acknowledgement while Elisif just laughed… until she realised Maia was still listening anyway, and then she ended up dragging Maia away and telling her not to use that sort of language, it was very naughty.

Alistair just stared back at Madanach with a lump in his throat, wanting very much to be angry with him, but he really couldn't be too upset with someone who'd given him a mother. 

“Thank you,” he said roughly, pulling him into a hug, and Madanach hesitated only briefly before yielding, embracing him fiercely, not able to put his feelings into words, and frankly Alistair wasn't sure what to say either. Only that Madanach had been a true friend and Alistair was ridiculously fond of the man. Far, far too fond. “I don't think I can ever repay you, but thank you. You're amazing.”

“I'm really not, in fact you were closer to the mark the first time,” Madanach chuckled, breath hot against Alistair's ear. “But I can see worth in other people and you're special and I adore you to bits. You don't get yourself killed either, because I will mourn you too.”

Alistair hugged him again, and then because what the hell, chances were he was going to die and wouldn't have to worry about consequences, took Madanach's face in his hands and kissed him firmly on the forehead, feeling secretly rather pleased at the gasp Madanach gave as he did.

“I love you, you mad, brilliant bastard,” Alistair told him. “If I don't come back, please take care of my mother for me. She's more fragile than she lets on.”

Madanach nodded, looking slightly embarrassed but definitely touched, and then preparations were hastily made. Evacuation was already happening, but in addition to Alistair, Blackwall, Dorian and Cicero joined the party.

“Don't get the wrong idea, we're just here to get you to the trebuchet,” Dorian warned her. “Then we're leaving and you face Corypheus down in your last stand. Knowing you, you'll almost certainly survive it.” Dorian's face then softened as he patted her shoulder. “I know what's at stake. I don't think I can let you go out there on your own, my friend.”

Elisif smiled and hugged Dorian, glad to have him by her side too, while Blackwall was telling Alistair he couldn't let a fellow Warden go alone.

And then Cicero sidled up, cooing. 

“Pretty Herald! Cicero wants to help. Specifically, Madanach seems to think you are intent on facing Corypheus in honourable battle, which you might lose. Cicero thinks dishonourable, one-sided battle which you do not lose would be far better, so he's hoping to provide one.”

It was a measure of how weird Elisif's life had got that she saw Cicero's beaming, demented face and actually felt reassured.

“You use every dirty trick in the book if you have to,” Elisif told him, and that pleased Cicero immensely.

And so the time came to leave, and Elisif surveyed the ones who'd not yet fled. Cullen had gone on ahead, and Josephine and Leliana with him, but Cassandra was still here, hovering at Madanach's shoulder, Borkul on his other side and Maia in his arms. Eola was there for Cicero, Fiona for Alistair, and the only reason Bethany wasn't there was because she was shepherding kids away.

“Madanach, if I don't come back, you need to look after the Inquisition. We cannot let Corypheus win,” Elisif told him, lump in her throat, but she needed to make sure everyone was looked after. And Madanach was one of the best administrators there was. He'd take care of everything for her. 

He nodded once, and then Elisif turned to go face destiny. Alistair and Blackwall kicked the doors open, and Elisif raced out into the ruins of Haven, Dawnbreaker gleaming.

“MUL QAH DIIV!” she Shouted, Dragon Aspect flaring into life, and as red Templars swarmed to see what was challenging them, Elisif brought the fight to them.

Fear faded away as Elisif poured all her feelings into the fight, Dawnbreaker seeming to sear their flesh as she slaughtered Templars, and Alistair and Blackwall fought tirelessly alongside her, with Dorian's magic alternately protecting them and blasting their foes into submission, while Cicero was here, there and everywhere, carving deep into what had once been humans.

They made it to the trebuchet, and here the fighting was the fiercest, as the Templars seemed to sense a fightback in progress. Wave after wave after them, potions running out, stamina running out, magicka running out, even Dragon Aspect's strength and Dawnbreaker's effects on the Templars not making it easy, and they were all carrying injuries when the final Templar, a gigantic behemoth of a beast that was more lyrium crystal than humanoid, finally fell.

Blackwall immediately ran to finish aiming the trebuchet, Cicero ran around with the last of the supplies encouraging people to drink their healing potions, and Alistair was picking up Elisif.

“So, now we wait?” Alistair said, glancing at the sky. The dragon couldn't be far away.

“Now I wait,” Elisif said, shivering even though the cold wasn't really bothering her. “The rest of you need to get out of here, rejoin the others. You can still catch up if you leave now. No, don't argue with me. Your mother needs you. And… so does Madanach. He'll be all alone if you don't go back.”

“Don't give me that, it's you he needs, not me,” Alistair snapped. “You're his wife. You're Maia's mother! Maybe they love me, but you can't just die and expect me to fill your shoes.”

“I don't, but you don't need to be here for this bit,” Elisif told him, wanting him away from here, he'd turned her down, he didn't need to be here acting like a boyfriend would. This was her fight, not his. Memories of Torygg trying to save her from Alduin in Sovngarde, and even though Torygg had been fighting a battle as suicidal as it had been unnecessary while Alistair was a seasoned warrior with darkspawn experience, Elisif wanted him far away, out of danger.

“Trebuchet's done, are we all staying?” Blackwall asked, dropping off the platform and joining them.

“No,” Elisif said firmly. “You four need to get back to the rest of them. No need for you all to be here. Go! That's an order!”

“Understood,” Blackwall said quietly. “Lady Herald, it's been an honour.”

“Same here,” Dorian said, nodding. “I'd say goodbye, but you tend to survive the impossible all the time, so I'll just bid you farewell until I see you again.”

A hug from Cicero, and then Alistair was the last to leave, biting his lip and looking torn… and then he settled for one last embrace, wordlessly holding Elisif for a few brief seconds before letting her go and leaving.

And then Elisif was alone, waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Next chapter won't be too much longer coming, but I thought that was a good point for a bit of a breather. The next one doesn't let up the pace at all.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elisif faces down the enemy, but with powers she can barely imagine at his hands, including over hers, things are not going well. Meanwhile the Inquisition are lost in the mountains, Madanach is feeling the pressure of power he never wanted, and all that can save them is a miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the next bit! I was just going to have Elisif fight Corypheus and then the dramatic escape, but there wasn't enough for a full chapter, so you get more! Happy Chistmas, everyone.

For a time, nothing happened. Elisif stared up at the sky, wondering where he'd gone. He had to be around here somewhere. If Cole was right, he'd come for her.

“Where are you??” Elisif shouted. “CORYPHEUS! I've got your mark right here. Come here and tell me what it does! Why you did this? What do you want??”

Silence and Elisif shoved Dawnbreaker back into its sheath, swearing in frustration. He had to turn up at some point. Hadn't he?

“CORYPHEUS!!!” Elisif roared, letting the Thu'um shine through. “WHERE. ARE. YOU???”

Wind in her hair, and the shadow of a dragon swept over her, sweeping around and landing heavily in the snow, wings flicking back as the foul thing snarled at her. 

Corypheus was no better, dismounting and stalking towards her, and if he'd looked horrific from a distance, he was worse up close.

“Pretender!” Corypheus snarled. “You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more!”

“My title is Dragonborn,” Elisif told him coldly, drawing her sword and starting to circle him. Dawnbreaker had been as effective against the tainted Templars as it had been against undead. It seemed Meridia was no fan of darkspawn either. “And the one toying with power he doesn't understand is you!”

“Your feeble voice-magic failed to harm my pet,” Corypheus shot back. He was making straight for her, holding a strange orb in his claw. Elisif was reminded of Keirine's hands… but even Matriarch Keirine didn't set Elisif's senses ablaze with wrong like Corypheus was doing. “I do not fear it. Nor do I fear empty barbarian honour-names. The only one with a dragon's power at his disposal here is me.”

The dragon was edging forward, drool dripping from its fangs, likely as tainted as the rest of it. Corypheus bared his teeth in a twisted approximation of a smile, and Elisif realised he perhaps saw more clearly than she'd thought.

“Know me,” Corypheus hissed. “Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the _will_ that is Corypheus!” One raised talon as he pointed at her. “You _will_ kneel.”

Even Alduin hadn't sounded quite this obnoxious. Even _Miraak_ had not been this arrogant.

“No,” Elisif snapped. “No one commands me. I am a _queen_.”

“Queen of no country I know of,” Corypheus growled, voice sibilant and menacing. “All the nations of this world will kneel before their rightful ruler Tevinter, and your crown will be as meaningless as your legend-mark!”

“I will never kneel,” Elisif told him, eyeing his posture and looking for a weak point. Corypheus didn't even seem surprised.

“You will resist,” he said. “You will always resist. It matters not. I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins… now!”

Corypheus's orb flicked open, lyrium-red light blazing out of it, and as Elisif went for him with Dawnbreaker, Corypheus's magic flared and Elisif's mark blazed, the sudden shock sending her off-balance. Dawnbreaker sheared through Corypheus's robe but missed his flesh. Elisif crashed into the snow, crying out as she grabbed her wrist.

“It is your own fault,” Corypheus snarled viciously at her. “You interrupted a ritual years in the planning and instead of dying, you _stole_ its powers! I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as touched, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens!”

Which would explain why an avatar of Kynareth wanted her help, but how Elisif was supposed to kill this monster when she was presently writhing on the ground in agony with her hand on fire, she had no idea.

“And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall!” Corypheus continued as he clenched his fist and Elisif's mark blazed up even higher. Elisif screamed in pain, tears rolling down her cheeks, aware of the dragon prowling round her, and the irony of a Dragonborn being unable to kill Corypheus's dragon pet and dying herself at its hands didn't escape her. She just hoped it was quick.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” she heard someone shout, and then a power like the Thu'um but not swept across the clearing… and Elisif's mark went quiet at once, the orb likewise shutting off. 

No… no, he hadn't. 

He had. Alistair was striding into the clearing, enraged as he stared down Corypheus.

“You will leave her alone, darkspawn,” Alistair announced, furious and commanding and… _really rather attractive_ … no, stop that, he'd said no. He'd also disobeyed a direct order. Somehow Elisif found she could forgive him for that part.

“Darkspawn??” Corypheus snarled. “I am more than a mere darkspawn, boy. But I see your tainted blood. I see something I can use.” He raised his hand, and Alistair's sword dropped from his hands as he put them to his head and started screaming.

“NO!” Elisif cried, heart breaking because this was horrible and the noise was like nothing she'd ever heard. She could see the veins on his face starting to turn black, and the worse thing was she could do nothing, because the dragon was advancing, preventing her going for Corypheus.

Elisif staggered to her feet, grabbed Dawnbreaker and raised her shield, trying not to think what was happening to poor Alistair… and then two things happened at once.

“FEIM ZII GRON!”

At the same time as Alistair went ethereal, a Sunhallowed arrow whistled past Elisif and shot the dragon in the eye, Auriel’s light exploding out on impact as the dragon staggered away, its right eye gone.

“Pretty Elisif!” Cicero cooed from behind her. “Cicero knew you would run into trouble. Alas, Cicero doesn't think stabbing is an option, but that's not why we came here, is it?”

Cicero was watching the horizon with a smile on his face, and Elisif followed his gaze to see a firebolt arc through the sky. The signal that the Inquisition had made it out of the disaster zone.

“What is happening??” Corypheus roared, looking from a ghostly Alistair to Elisif suddenly looking rather more confident to his maimed dragon to the demented assassin kneeling by the trebuchet.

“We are responding to losing by kicking the chessboard over,” Cicero announced. “The Inquisition really are very poor losers, you know.” Cicero grabbed his knife and sliced the trebuchet's stays.

The trebuchet promptly unleashed its power, flinging its load at the mountain overlooking Haven… and the still snow-laden sides exploded, tonnes of snow starting to move. The ground shook as the avalanche gathered momentum, and Corypheus, on seeing the oncoming tide of snow, snarled and raced for his dragon, climbing aboard and spurring it into flight.

“This is not over!” he roared as he soared away into the night. Elisif looked up at the advancing snow and realised for her it just might be. 

Alistair was staggering to his feet, dazed but all right, the Blighted blood magic having been dispelled once his ethereal form had removed his blood. The Shout's influence wore off and Elisif had never been so pleased to see his healthy, normal not-black-streaked face.

“By – by the Eight, is that right?” Alistair gasped. 

“Alistair, you stupid man, why did you come back??” Elisif cried. “Now we're both going to die!”

“I wasn't leaving you!” Alistair cried. “I don't care… I couldn't leave you to fight him alone!”

“You idiot,” Elisif shouted, trying to be heard over the oncoming ice storm that even her Nord blood wouldn't save her from… but she was secretly glad not to be alone. It was a shame Cicero was going to die too.

“NO ONE IS GOING TO DIE, CICERO HAS AN ESCAPE ROUTE!”

“What?” Elisif cried, turning to see Cicero kicking some wood out of the way to reveal a sinkhole in the ground.

“TUNNELS!” Cicero shouted, looking very excited. “SHALL WE SEE WHERE THEY GO?”

Without waiting for an answer, Cicero dived into the hole and disappeared. Elisif looked at Alistair. Alistair looked back, and then they both looked at the avalanche and decided anything was worth a try.

“Come on!” Elisif cried and Alistair ran after, letting her leap down into the tunnel first before following, both of them sprinting down the passage as the ground shook and the avalanche roared in. Snow and rock fell into the passageway behind them, the tunnel giving away, and Alistair promptly tackled Elisif to the ground, shielding her as the landslide roared over their heads. Rocks fell but nobody died, and the tunnel roof stayed stable away from the sinkhole itself.

Neither moved while the avalanche rumbled on, Alistair pinning Elisif down, wincing and grunting as small rocks bounced off him, and Elisif felt a bit guilty but secretly rather glad he was there. And at length, the noise quietened and the world stilled, and Elisif looked up and saw they were in a rock tunnel lit only by Elisif's glowing mark. Which still felt weird.

Alistair sat up, slowly letting her go and wincing as he did so, and Elisif realised she was aching all over too.

Fortunately Alistair was there to help her sit up, arm around her as she sat back against the wall. One magelight later and at least they could see. Blocked passageway behind them but an open tunnel leading away, and draughts of fresh air meant it might lead to the surface at some point. No sign of Cicero. Maybe he'd gone ahead. They should probably look for him at some point, but Elisif was exhausted. She took the Jagged Crown off and put it on the floor in front of her, then rested her head on Alistair's shoulder. He reacted by taking his own helmet off then pulling her closer, head resting against hers.

“Thank you,” Elisif whispered, glad he was here. Maybe they were lost and with no idea where the Inquisition had ended up, but at least they were alive and not seriously hurt and had each other. Maybe he'd turned her down… but Elisif found herself not caring. He still had her back. They were still friends, it seemed.

“I couldn't leave you,” Alistair said softly. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Elisif whispered. “I think you saved me.”

Alistair shuddered, holding her closer.

“Don't, I can't get the image out of my head,” Alistair said, and the way his fingers were entwining in her hair felt really rather nice. “The way you were screaming… I don't want to hear you sound like that ever again, it was horrible.”

Not nearly as horrible as hearing him being hurt by Corypheus. 

“He hurt you too!” Elisif cried. “I didn't like that either! If Maia hadn't taught you that Shout, you'd have died!”

“I know,” Alistair said, his voice choking up a bit. “I was having trouble learning it because fading into the Fade bothered me. I didn't want to be a bloodless spirit. Up until someone started using the taint in my blood to mess with me, and then I suddenly saw the upside of not having any.”

Elisif did smile a bit at that but even so, the idea of Alistair in pain was horrible.

“I'm glad you're all right,” she whispered. “You shouldn't have come back… but I'm glad you did.”

“So am I,” Alistair said softly, and then she felt his fingertips on her cheek, gently tilting her head up to look at him, and she got a glimpse of him smiling at her before his lips met hers.

Which was unexpected, completely unexpected, but Alistair was kissing her, moaning softly as he held her to him and Elisif closed her eyes and just let herself kiss him back. 

She should kiss Chantry boys more often, because Alistair was really rather good at it. Although she suspected Madanach would not approve of her making a habit of this. Getting to kiss Alistair was more than she ever thought she'd get.

Why he'd apparently changed his mind, she wasn't sure but damned if she was passing this up.

Eventually they both had to come up for air, and Alistair was looking a bit guilty.

“Was that all right?” Alistair said quietly. “I mean… you didn't mind?”

“No,” Elisif whispered. “No, not at all, but I thought… you said you weren't interested.”

“Not true, I just couldn't deal with it,” Alistair admitted. “But I nearly died, you nearly died, I saw you earlier looking like you'd just triumphed over your foes and… I forgot completely why I'd said no. I just wanted you as mine so much. It was why I couldn't leave. What sort of man walks away and leaves his lover in danger? Not me, I can tell you that now.”

“We're not lovers,” Elisif reminded him. “Not yet.”

“No, but I want to be,” Alistair said, stroking her hair again and looking serious for once. “I never met anyone like you before. Maybe Lyra, but next to her I always felt like a resource, to be taken for granted. I loved her completely but she didn't feel the same. But when I'm around you, I feel different. Stronger. More alive than I've ever felt. You've woken something inside me, and it scares me to death, and this voice-magic is just unbelievable. I don't know what's going on, but when you're here, I just feel such a connection to you. I know you feel it too. I don't know what's going on or what it all means, but I know this – I love you and I'm not leaving you.”

Elisif hadn't ever thought she'd hear that from him and she couldn't stop the emotions from welling up inside as she kissed him back, tears in her eyes but she didn't care. Her Dragonborn brother-in-arms loved her back and she'd never been happier. 

“I love you too,” she whispered, breaking off the kiss and resting her forehead against his. “I just can't believe… you know I'm still married, right? Madanach's not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Alistair admitted, looking a tiny bit concerned at that. “I'm a bit nervous about the whole thing, if I'm honest. But… if he's really OK with it… I don't know if I want to be with him as well, mind.”

“You did tell him you loved him before you left,” Elisif reminded him. Alistair laughed nervously.

“Yeah, that was when I thought I wasn't coming back. I mean, it's not like it's not true or anything, but… it's different when I'm expected to act on it, you know?”

“He'd never force you to do anything you didn't want to do, you know that,” Elisif told him, and Alistair nodded.

“I know. But it'd upset him if I said no. He'd look really sad, and I hate him looking sad. It's much better when he's smiling, he just looks so cute and adorable and I just want to cuddle him and kiss him and I did not just say that.”

“I'm afraid you did just say that,” Elisif said, grinning. “Don't worry, I don't think he'll mind.”

“Mara help me,” Alistair moaned, hiding his face in the crook of Elisif's shoulder. Elisif smiled and stroked his hair, idly wondering why he was now invoking the Eight all the time. That was the second time he'd done it tonight. Meditations to treat addiction were one thing, but this was starting to seem like more than that.

“You know, I think the Chantry will have something to say if they hear you swearing by other gods,” Elisif told him, running her fingers through his hair, really short by Nord standards but fairly typical of the Bretons Alistair could pass for.

“Fuck the Chantry,” Alistair growled. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't swear, and they're not all bad. But I found out Fiona's my mum tonight. She had to give me up and she told them to make sure I never knew she was even related to me, and I still would never know if I'd never joined the Inquisition, if you'd not recruited the mages to help you, if you'd not seen it in that dark future and told Madanach and if he'd not been the conniving git he is. And you know why that is?”

“Because of the Circle?” Elisif said, having already heard they didn't let mages who got pregnant keep their babies. She assumed Fiona had had a similar situation.

“Because the Chantry doesn't let mages raise their kids or have a life outside the Circle,” Alistair said, sitting up, smile fading and eyes narrowing. “And because they taught her all her life elves were subhuman, further from the Maker, and that the elf-blooded are unworthy. She hated her own blood so much, she didn't want her son to know because of the shame. I had a mother who loved me and I lost her, because of the fucking Chantry. I could have had a happy childhood with someone who loved me, but I didn't. The Chantry saw to that, and then they saw to the childhood I did have being miserable as well. I've not been terribly devout for years but this is just the last straw. So… I'm deconverting. I'm not Andrastian any more. I realise that that probably doesn't mean much to you, and that back in Tamriel deciding whether to worship a god or not is on a par with deciding what to have for breakfast in the morning, but over here, saying you're not Andrastian any more is a big deal, OK? And… and… I'm panicking a bit, aren't I?”

“It's all right,” Elisif told him, kissing him on the cheek. “It's fine. And you can convert if you want? Only I'm not a priest and I didn't bring any books, I don't know if Madanach did. And they'll be in Tamrielic. But we can tell you a bit about them?”

“I'd like that,” Alistair said, smiling a little. “It's so weird, only a few months ago I thought it was Andrastianism or nothing for humans, and now it turns out there's a whole other land, and they've got eight gods and these scary people called Dragonborns, and it turns out I'm one, and we're actually originally from there… Elisif, when people find all this out, they're going to completely lose it. I'M close to losing it, but I'm OK because you're here and everything seems OK when you're here. How's the rest of the world – Thedas – going to react?”

“I don't know,” Elisif admitted, feeling a little bit hysterical. “But they don't know yet. I mean, the mages know but no one's listening to stories the mages are telling each other, so we keep quiet and let people believe it's just a story. It'll make it easier to break the news to people later. Maybe I'll get Varric to write a book first.”

“If we ever see him again,” Alistair whispered, looking uneasily around. “We should get out of here, shouldn't we?”

They definitely should, and Elisif let Alistair help her to her feet, only pausing once they were both upright, her arms around his shoulders.

“Love you,” Elisif whispered. “You're definitely sure, aren't you? You're not going to get to the surface and then deny anything ever happened, are you? Or change your mind again?”

“No,” Alistair murmured. “Never.” He leaned forward and began kissing her again, and Elisif quite forgot they'd been about to leave, and mentally cursed their heavy plate armour because if they'd been wearing anything else, she'd have had him out of it by this point and making frantic love on the cave floor. As it was, she didn't want to stop kissing him, not now, not ever.

“HELLO! Cicero hopes he's not interrupting anything.”

How long the little shit had been there for was anyone's guess but he'd materialised out of the shadows and was standing there grinning, clearly knowing damn well what he'd been interrupting, and if either of them had wanted to keep things secret, that possibility was over now.

“What??” Elisif snapped, whirling round and glaring at him. Cicero pouted back at her and Elisif relented slightly. 

“What is it, Cicero?” Elisif sighed. “Have you found a way out?”

Cicero nodded eagerly, clasping his hands.

“Yes! Cicero explored ahead, and these tunnels seem to open out on the mountainside. Only… there is a problem.”

“What sort of problem?” Alistair, narrowing his eyes at Cicero, because while Alistair had only met Cicero a few times, that had been enough times to get a measure of him. Sure enough, Cicero was wringing his hands and looking rather pathetic.

“Only there are a lot of demons wandering near the exit, and Cicero did not like his odds of sneaking past them, so he thought he should come back and find the big, burly Dragonborn warriors and get them to help.”

“Wait – were you going to sneak off without us??” Alistair demanded, correctly decoding this as 'I was fully intending to leave without you but it was too dangerous so I came back'.

“Me??” Cicero said, wounded eyes staring back as he held up his palms. “Abandon pretty Elisif and go back to Madanach without her?? Cicero is appalled you would even think it! Cicero would never leave nice Elisif behind! Cicero came back, didn't he? Cicero helped against nasty Corypheus, didn't he? Cicero pointed out the tunnel, did he not?”

Cicero had done all those things, and he had come back to warn them about the demons, so Elisif wasn't going to shout at him this time.

“Alistair, leave him,” Elisif said wearily. “He was never going to have gone far. First sign of trouble and he'd come back, and look, here he is. Come on, Cicero, let's find these demons. How many of them are there?”

There turned out to be six of them, powerful despair demons, and not even Alistair shutting off their magic and Cicero and her breathing fire and taking out two of them gave them enough of an advantage. And then Elisif remembered how different her mark, the Anchor apparently, was feeling. Like Corypheus had activated it somehow. As the cold beam of a demon bore into her, Elisif gritted her teeth and raised her hand.

Power blazed out of it, something like a rift opening above them, and power blazed out, green light grabbing the demons, paralyzing them and then disintegrating them until nothing was left but the green orb and its sickly ring of influence, and then even that was gone.

Silence from the other two, and then a gasp from Cicero.

“Ooohhh! OOOOOHHHHHHH! What did you do??” He promptly scampered over and started examining her hand.

“What _did_ you do?” Alistair said, looking a little warier. “I mean, do you know?”

“Of course I -” Elisif looked at her hand and admitted the truth. “No, not really, it just felt like the right thing to do. I couldn't do it before. Corypheus has done something to it. He said he'd crafted it as a tool to assault the very heavens. I think he was trying to get into the Fade. Like he did before.”

“And now it's on your hand. That's… really not good,” Alistair said, worried and playing with that worry ring of his. 

“I know,” Elisif said, not really wanting to think about what this meant, or what this Anchor even was. Madanach might have some ideas, but until then, she wasn't sure she wanted to think too much on it. “Come on, let's go.”

The exit was right there, and all three of them peeked out to see the worst snowstorm any of them had seen in ages raging outside.

“All right, I'm not going out in that, we'd get blown off the mountain in minutes, or freeze,” Alistair said, folding his arms.

“It might blow over?” Cicero chirped hopefully. Cyrodiil-born, and despite his years of living in Skyrim, he wasn't as good as reading mountain weather as he was the emotions on a mark's face.

“Or it might bury the cave in snow and seal us in,” Elisif said, not used to this sort of weather herself but knowing the dangers. “We don't have enough food to last a day even.”

“We could kill and eat Alistair!” Cicero suggested, looking far too keen on this idea for Elisif's liking. “There is plenty of meat on him!”

“No!” Elisif snapped, at the same time as Alistair cried “what??” and Cicero did back down at that.

“I suppose the darkspawn taint in his blood does not taste very nice anyway,” Cicero said, shrugging, and Elisif only barely resisted the temptation to kick Cicero out into the blizzard to see how he fared. But she supposed Eola would miss him, as would his kids.

“We can't travel in that and we can't stay here,” Elisif said, stepping out so she could see the sky. “So if it won't blow over on its own, let's make it move on. LOK VAH KOOR!”

The Shout echoed out, power flying out into the storm, and within seconds the wind was dying down, horizontal blizzards settled into gentle snowfall before even that was gone, and the clouds started to clear, the unfamiliar constellations of Thedas blinking down from above. 

“Did you just… Shout that away?” Alistair said, staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. Elisif nodded, not sure what that expression on his face portended and not sure if it was a good thing or not.

She needn't have worried. Alistair stepped forward, took one hand in his then the other, kissed them both, let them go and then he was kissing her properly. It was a good five seconds before either were ready to talk after that.

“See, this is what I meant, you're amazing and I love you, and every time you do that, I just want to be in your arms, and… I'm babbling, aren't I?” Alistair said sheepishly.

“I don't mind,” Elisif whispered, stroking his cheek and quietly thinking he was nothing short of adorable. What was rather less adorable was Cicero standing behind Alistair, smirking at her and waggling his eyebrows.

“Cicero. What,” Elisif said, glaring at him as Alistair turned round, saw Cicero and immediately adopted a defensive position of his own.

“Elisif, need me to dump him headfirst in the nearest snowdrift?” Alistair asked cheerfully.

“Tempting!” Elisif said, genuinely considering it. Cicero pouted, fluttering his eyelashes and sidling up to her.

“Oh but Cicero is happy for you!” Cicero cooed. “Cicero is pleased for the pretty Herald! Cicero had no idea she had opened her marriage, but Cicero thinks new love is very sweet!” He tilted his head, sly grin appearing. “Madanach is aware he's in an open marriage, isn't he.”

Elisif could feel herself blushing, and the temptation to take Alistair up on his offer of leaving Cicero in a snowdrift had never been greater.

“Of course he's aware,” Elisif growled. “Really, Cicero, this is none of your business!”

“It will become Cicero's business if Madanach flies into a jealous rage and orders Alistair dead,” Cicero purred, and Alistair actually yelped at that one. But then Cicero cooed and giggled and retreated to a safe distance.

“But Cicero likes pretty Alistair and Cicero is happy for pretty Elisif and Cicero is sure Madanach will be too,” Cicero grinned. “Shall we find him and share the happy news? Cicero's empathy bond with Eola is saying… that way.”

He was pointing up and behind them, but given half a mountain was between them and where the bond was saying, that didn't help. Elisif glanced at the trail, knowing from bitter experience in Skyrim that mountain trails went all over the place.

“Think the path will loop back and start going up?” Elisif sighed.

“Don't see we have a choice, it's the only way ahead,” Alistair said, still playing with that runic ring of his and eyeing Cicero nervously. “Look, best we can do is follow it until we find them or find somewhere familiar. If we can get out of the mountains, we can make for Redcliffe instead if need be. Arl Teagan will help us, and he can send people out looking for the Inquisition. When we know where they are, we can join them, or send word that we're all right.”

They weren't all right yet, but Elisif had survived in the snowy wilds of Skyrim before now, and Cicero had had his fair share of hiking around Skyrim too. Their chances were as good as anyone's. So off they set, down but not out, with a dangerous new foe that they weren't ready for… but a steely determination to bring him down, by any means necessary. The world was counting on them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Too many people had died in Haven. Too many supplies had been lost too, and Madanach didn't know which was worse. Lost people was a blow. Lost supplies could doom the rest of them.

They'd got clear, sent up a signal, and the trebuchet had fired. The avalanche had kicked off, and they'd all watched the storm of snow and ice sweep all in its path, burying Haven beneath. The Inquisition had fallen silent, barely a cry going up as they'd seen their home destroyed… and their Herald buried beneath.

And Madanach had closed his eyes and offered up a quiet prayer to the old gods to watch over them all, Maia clutched in his arms and clinging on to him. Elisif was under all that, and the worst thing was, he could still feel her. Not dead. Just fiercely determined to not die. He couldn't feel pain off her but what if she was trapped? What if he had to sit there with her in his head, slowly dying from hunger and thirst until one day she wasn't there any more?

Madanach held Maia and turned abruptly away. Time to move. And the really bitter irony was that he'd seen Corypheus escape on his dragon and flee the scene. They'd not even killed him. Elisif had done all that for nothing.

“Boss?” Borkul said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Boss, now what.”

“Get Roderick,” Madanach said quietly. “We continue. The plan is unchanged. We get far enough away from Haven to not be found then we camp for what remains of the night. Let's move.”

So move they did, Roderick in front to point the way and Madanach right behind him, and no one argued with any of Madanach's orders, even Cullen following along without question. This was not normal, but they'd all seen the same things he had. They were all reeling from the shock of losing their Herald. Later, the emotional reaction would come, but for now, everyone was too shocked to react and just did what they were told. Madanach would use this while he still could. 

Shouts from the perimeter, two men approaching, who were soon identified as Dorian and Blackwall. Two of them… what happened to the rest??

“Get them brought here immediately,” Madanach snapped and two Inquisition soldiers went off to do just that. 

Dorian was in a state of some distress, and Blackwall's face was grim. Madanach motioned for Borkul to come with him, but he handed Maia over to Mother Giselle. Best if she didn't hear this.

“What happened?” Madanach said, keeping his emotions hidden. “Is Elisif with you?” 

Of course not, but he needed to hear it from them.

“No,” Dorian said, arms crossed and looking genuinely distraught, shivering in the cold. “She… she stayed behind, told the rest of us to flee.”

Movement behind him, and then Eola was pushing her way through, also desperate for news.

“Dorian!” Eola cried. “Dorian, where is he? Where's Cicero?? Is he with you?”

“Oh god,” was all Dorian said, and it was Blackwall who stepped forward to break the bad news to her.

“He was with us… and then we realised he wasn't, and that was was when Alistair said bugger that, he was going back too. Eola, I'm sorry, if he was in that...”

“No!” Eola cried. “He can't be… he's not dead, I'd know if he was, Da, we need to send out a search party!”

His elder daughter, usually so self-contained and calm, now panicking openly, was not a sight Madanach was used to, or wanted to be. And he wanted to make it all better for her, but the fact was, he didn't know how. Chances were they might both end up widowed tonight.

“Eola, I know, but we don't have the resources!” Madanach sighed. “We need to keep moving, love.”

Eola took that about as well as could be expected.

“Da, he could be in trouble! And your wife's there too, don't you care about her!”

“Of course I do!” Madanach snapped, wishing he could help but he couldn't, and why everyone kept expecting him to just be able to pull a miracle out of his ass just like that, he didn't know. “You know I'm worried too. But I can't just send people to unearth all that snow. It could take weeks to find them, and we'd starve in the meantime.”

“They'll be dead by then!” Eola shouted. “Fine, if you won't go, I will. I _will_ find my husband.”

“Eola, don't you dare, I'm not losing you as well, get back here, EOLA!”

Eola had taken off, grabbing the pack she'd managed to salvage from her stores in the Chantry's cellar, containing a tent, bedrolls, likely food and potions too, and was pushing through the crowds, and there were just too many people in the way to risk a paralysis spell.

“Should we stop her?” Borkul said, and Madanach wearily shook his head, giving up on this one.

“Let her go. I know my daughter. She's determined, skilled, good in the wilderness, and honestly, she works better as an independent operator. I don't have the resources to organise a search party, I can't spare anyone, but my daughter is a very talented woman. This is actually better than if I'd organised a party myself.”

“Cunning,” Borkul laughed and Madanach smiled faintly. It was, but it was tearing at his heart for yet another family member to go haring off into the unknown. 

“Aren't you even bothered?” Blackwall that was, staring at him rather accusingly.

“Of course I'm bothered, but she's thirty-two, not five,” Madanach sighed. “She'll either find something or she won't. If she doesn't, she'll come back, we'll hug it out and it'll be fine. If she does… well now, I can live with that.”

“You're a cold-hearted man, Madanach,” was all Blackwall had to say to that. “Still, she's a capable woman. Who knows what she'll turn up.”

“We should never have left her,” Dorian was saying. “Never. She'd never have left us. Blackwall, what were we thinking??”

“She gave us an order, Dorian,” Blackwall said, patting him on the back. “We don't disobey orders from our commanding officer.”

“She's not a commanding officer, she's my friend!” Dorian cried, head in his hands, and Madanach was able to put aside his own feelings for at least a little while. 

“You did what you had to,” Madanach said, clapping his shoulders. “At least you two made it out. Come on, let's get movin-”

“DADDY!” Maia had broken free and was running over in tears. “Daddy, Eola's gone! She's run away!”

Madanach picked her up, about ready to swear, but he controlled himself.

“She's gone to find Cicero, cariad,” he murmured to her. “We need to let her get on with it. She'll come back when she's ready.”

“But what if monsters get her,” Maia whispered.

“Then my money's on your sister,” Madanach told her, as everyone started to get moving again. It seemed to soothe Maia a little, but her next question threatened to shatter him completely.

“Is Mama coming?” Maia whispered. “Where's Mama?”

Madanach closed his eyes and thought of Elisif, Elisif who was out there, not hurt, not in pain, alive, determined… in a good mood. Why on earth was Elisif in such a good mood? Madanach had to wonder, but it gave him hope. She'd find them.

“She's with Cicero,” he told her. “I think they escaped the landslide. They're going to catch us up. We need to find somewhere to camp and wait.”

Maia seemed comforted by that. Madanach however was anything but comforted, because looking over her shoulder, he'd seen stormclouds emerging from over the mountains. As if they didn't have enough problems. So he collared Roderick.

“Roderick, is there some sort of open space or clearing on this track any time soon? We need to make camp, ideally before that storm hits.”

“Yes, there's one a bit further along but I – I don't know if we'll make it before the storm hits,” Roderick stammered. Madanach was able to get out of the man that it was half an hour away, more or less. Which, looking at that sky, meant no.

“We start moving, immediately,” Madanach growled. “We need to cover as much ground as we can before the storm arrives. Move!”

The Inquisition got moving, but large groups of people that include children and elders never move all that fast, and the supplies they did have were weighing them down. Madanach hoped he wouldn't have to leave anything more behind, because each pack jettisoned could mean the deaths of anything up to a dozen people who might need the food or medical supplies. And so Madanach put off the decision and hurried them forward as best he could. He knew they wouldn't make it in time though.

Sure enough, the first flakes were soon falling, and then clouds swallowed the sky and visibility fell to zero. An already cold and underequipped Inquisition was starting to freeze, and Madanach could weep. After surviving all that, the weather was going to kill them. Elisif would likely emerge only to find out her Inquisition had frozen to death in the mountains. Fine leader he was.

Maia was shivering, clinging to him, desperate for warmth, but given Madanach's outfit did not cover nearly enough skin for this sort of weather, he had precious little to give her. 

_I'm sorry, little one._

“Madanach, we need to make camp, we cannot continue in this!” Cassandra was shouting.

“Are you insane, we can't pitch tents in this, we'll be buried in snow if we aren't careful, we need to keep moving, find shelter!” Cullen shouted back. “Find that clearing Roderick spoke of!”

All eyes on the hapless priest, who was looking utterly miserable and probably wishing he had actually died in Haven.

“I think it is this way… but it's difficult to tell in this! It was years ago I last walked this route, Madanach! And it was summer then!”

“We don't have space to camp where we are now,” Madanach snapped. “We keep moving until we get there.”

This did not prove popular with anyone, and Madanach hadn't expected the honeymoon to die so quickly.

“We'll freeze if we don't do something,” Leliana said, shivering in her chainmail. “Fiona, can't your mages start a fire?”

“In this??” Fiona cried. “We are not all-powerful, as soon as our mana ran out, the fire would be gone, and that will not be long in these conditions.”

“Boss, we've got to do something, Josie's freezing,” Borkul warned him. Josephine was clinging to Borkul, shivering all over, and while her fur coat had stopped her getting hypothermia, it wasn't intended for this.

“Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light, I shall weather the storm. I shall endure,” Roderick was saying, almost pleading with the storm to leave them be. Glancing around, he might not be the only one reciting that verse to themselves. Madanach almost wished himself Andrastian, but as it was, he knew only the Old Gods of the Reach, and they cared very little for the lives of mortals.

_We are going to die, we are going to die, isn't one of the symptoms of hypothermia making terrible decisions?_

Madanach fingered the charm at his throat, and one snap of his fingers and it'd break and he'd be back in the Reach, likely to be arrested by the Empire as soon as he arrived, but he'd be safe and Maia would be safe and that was the main thing.

_I failed you, Elisif. I can't look after all these people, they're not_ my _people and I'm not as young as I used to be._

“I can't make the storm go away, Borkul,” Madanach snapped at his bodyguard, and then he became vaguely aware of Maia tugging at his hair to get his attention. “Maia, what is it, I don't have time for games.”

“I can make it go away,” Maia cried. “Can you lift me up?”

Maia could… there was a Thu'um for that?? There was a Thu'um for that. Yes, there was, wasn't there, Madanach vaguely recalled Elisif having used it to get to the top of the Throat of the World. Typical Nord rubbish, but it looked like it might save their lives. Madanach let go of the teleporter charm and decided it was worth a shot.

“Borkul, take Maia, she's going to shout the storm away,” Madanach said, handing her over to him. “Hold her up so she's facing the sky. Maia, whenever you want.”

Maia was shivering, clutching Frogella and looking frozen, poor thing. But she looked at the sky, the hood of her fur parka falling back and then she took a deep breath and Shouted.

“LOK VAH KOOR!”

The Shout echoed out, and Madanach could see power hurled into the storm… but would it work? Maia was only a little girl after all. But she'd sealed rifts and could breathe fire and could turn ethereal. Banishing a storm might not be such an outlandish possibility. 

And then from a distance away but not too far away, came an answering Shout, muffled but female and sounding a bit like the same words, and Madanach knew then they'd not lost their Herald after all. Elisif was alive and crucially, not trapped under a ton of snow and ice. She'd made it. She'd made it, and Madanach had never felt so proud.

The snow was easing off, and suddenly Madanach could see clearly a hundred yards, two hundred… people visible when before they'd just been shapes, and above… above he could see stars again. As the wind died down, the clouds dissipated, and as one, the Inquisition started gasping and talking all at once, everyone looking around and then seeing Maia, cheerful and excited, being lowered and handed back to her proud father.

“It worked, Daddy!” Maia announced. “Look, the storm's gone!”

“It is,” Madanach said, kissing her cheek and cuddling her for all he was worth. “You just saved everyone, Maia. You're a little hero!”

Maia beamed at him, before cuddling him back, hiding her face as she became aware just how many people were watching them.

Including the Inquisition's inner circle, all staring at Maia with varying degrees of awe.

“Did she just get rid of the storm?” Cullen said uncertainly.

“That should not have been possible,” Cassandra gasped. “Magic cannot do this. Is this… is this really a gift of the Maker after all?”

“He has not abandoned us,” Leliana whispered, delight all over her face as she stared at Maia. “Maybe Elisif was right, and the Maker does send Dragonborns into the world in times of trouble. We do not have our Herald but we still have her little girl… and she just saved us.”

Elisif had also contributed but Madanach decided that news could wait. Let Maia have her moment.

“The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and the next,” Roderick whispered, staring at Maia as if Andraste herself had just banished the storm. “I have heard the sound, a song in the stillness, the echo of your Voice, calling creation to wake from its slumber.”

Also from the Chant, and Madanach hadn't quite realised it had so many apt verses in it. The notion of the Voice of the Maker that could command creation itself, was particularly worrying. He'd not realised it was quite so central to their religion, mainly because he'd paid very little attention to it, but he was starting to wonder. Had Andraste really been Dragonborn, a Master of the Voice? And was the Inquisition's spontaneous crowning of Elisif as Herald of Andraste perhaps a subconscious recognition that here was someone else with a God-given Voice?

He didn't know but he had a feeling that that recognition might be about to become rather more conscious, and sure enough, their lead scribbler-in-chief was cottoning on.

“Who cares, this is going straight in the book,” Varric was saying, enthralled. “Triumph over adversity, tiny little girl's Maker-granted powers save us all, the readers'll love it.”

_Order this stopped immediately. Deny everything and tell them that if you can find someone with the right genetic markers, an unborn child on the way and a disembodied dragon who's willing to reincarnate, you can breed a Dragonborn yourself._

But Madanach said nothing. Because Madanach also had seen the power of legends for himself, and part of him was thinking that being immortalised as the Blessed Father of the Maker-Graced Holy Child would be just fine with him, thank you very much.

“We're lost in the middle of nowhere and you're thinking about your readership?” Blackwall scoffed, and Dorian was rolling his eyes too.

“Maybe wait until we're actually in civilisation again first?” Dorian suggested, which got a bitter laugh from Sera.

“According to you, the nearest civilisation doesn't start until a hundred miles north of Starkhaven,” Sera muttered, and Madanach, pulled from his reverie on just what the statues and paintings of the Madanach and Child would look like, realised the North vs South argument was starting up again and that if he wasn't careful, Dorian and Sera would be flinging insults all night. Especially as just through the pass beyond, he could see a large clearing that was perfect for a camp. Roderick had led them true after all.

“All right, that's enough,” he called out, projecting his voice with help from a little illusion magic so everyone heard him. “Yes, the storm's gone, thanks to my little girl here. But we're not out of the woods yet. We're making for that clearing over there and then we're going to camp for what's left of the night and resupply if we can. When we're ready, we'll need to start moving on through the Frostbacks. I'm not sure where we are, but we aren't helpless, and we will find a way. Our Herald might not be here yet, but we still have her daughter, and more importantly, we still have all of us here, now. We'll make it over the Frostbacks into Orlais, we'll find a new home, rest and regroup, and then we'll take the fight to Corypheus! We will have our revenge for Haven! We will have justice for our fallen! We will make Elisif proud!”

He'd got a bit carried away, but it was working because he could see people starting to smile, including Cassandra, which was frankly little short of miraculous. Even Cullen was looking less hostile.

“For the Herald!” someone cried, and a few others took up the refrain too, and who was Madanach to argue.

“For the Herald!” he roared, and the massed Inquisition roared it back to him, applause breaking out among what had been a tired and dispirited bunch a few minutes ago. They all fell into line quite quickly after that, and Madanach set about organising supplies, getting tents up, fires burning, a guard set, latrines dug, and general camp amenities sorted out. To his surprise, no one questioned him, no one argued back, Cullen just did what he was told, and everyone just got on with it. The infighting, it seemed had stopped, and Madanach finally retired to the tent he'd arranged for himself and Maia, who had been wrapped in furs and laid down to sleep, Mother Giselle watching over her.

“You remain a fascinating man, Madanach,” she said as Madanach started organising his own bedroll. 

“I try,” Madanach said, not really paying a lot of attention. “Unless you were flirting with me, in which case, please don't, I'm really not ready for a new relationship.”

Laughter from Giselle, who was shaking her head.

“Not my intention, Madanach,” she said, smiling fondly at him. “Only I was wondering if you had given any thought to how people are reacting to you. To the story being told here tonight.”

“Not really, and if you mean Varric, don't worry, I intend to be going over everything he writes before it gets published to make sure it's got nothing inappropriate in it,” Madanach said, finishing with the bedding and stretching out on it.

“Not Varric,” Giselle said quietly, growing serious. “I was thinking more of the word-of-mouth tale being told right now, a new Canticle being sung, although its final version will take time to become fully known. But you are aware of the tale of Andraste and Maferath, of Andraste's death at the gates of Minrathous, and Maferath leading his armies home. His betrayal at the time was not known – only years later did the Alamarri discover their king had given his wife over himself and ensure that name became associated with blackest treason.”

Of course he knew, every day had been a reminder that the Herald's husband was the opposite of a hero and might be worse than Maferath himself. 

“I'm aware,” Madanach growled. “Mother, where is this going exactly?”

“Only that in the first story, Andraste was betrayed, but in this new story, our Herald went to the pyre willingly,” Giselle told him, sympathy in her voice as she saw him flinch. “I know your grief must be raw but please hear me out.”

Madanach nodded for her to continue, not sure quite where this was going, but something telling him he needed to hear this.

“Our Herald sacrificed herself, and all the Inquisition saw you objecting,” Giselle said, her voice gentle, but Madanach could hear the unyielding passion of a true believer in her words. “Everyone sees you holding on to Maia even when your arms grow weary because you cannot bear to be parted from her too. And they all saw her banish the storm with the same Voice Elisif had.”

“Has,” Madanach growled, suddenly annoyed by the implication she was gone, because she wasn't, she was alive and he could feel her trying to find them. “She isn't dead. She survived. She's coming back.”

“Has then,” Giselle said gently, although he could tell she was just humouring him. “Maybe she will surprise us all and return, miracle though it may seem. But right now, what we have is a little girl with her mother's powers, who some say are the same ones the Maker gifted Andraste herself with, and a man who is rising to the challenge and leading us when we need it. Without you, Cassandra would be arguing with Cullen, Cullen with Leliana, Josephine trying to make peace, and none of us getting anywhere.”

“I'm not expecting this to last,” Madanach admitted. “Give them time, and they'll be unified all right, all of them agreed I'm a nightmare to work with.”

Giselle laughed again, clearly amused.

“Do not be so sure,” she purred. “The Maferath and Andraste story was written anew tonight. And in this version, Maferath did not betray her but loved her truly, and will lead her people as she would have wanted.”

Which sounded like a truly terrible idea. Yes, let's put the grieving maybe-widower who doesn't even want to be here in charge, no way that would go wrong. Even if it would be nice to really be revered as the Blessed Father of the Holy Child.

“I am not the leader she is,” Madanach said quietly. “She walks into a room and everyone smiles and falls a bit in love with her and ends up somehow doing whatever she wants. Look at me, I was the scourge of her people for years, and what happens but she ends up in my prison cell, flutters her eyelashes and I end up avenging her husband for her, helping her get her crown, helping her save the world and then marrying her to secure peace. Do you think it would have ended happily ever after if I'd been the one with the Thu'um? Hardly. People do not love me, they think I'm a grumpy old bastard with a vicious streak and they do what they're told because they're scared of me. And they are not wrong.”

“You would be surprised,” Giselle said quietly. “They are looking to you to lead them to safety. And after Maia shouted the skies clear, they believe you can do it. Maybe they trust you because they have no other choice, but if you can repay that trust, they will love you like they loved her. Do not underestimate the power of shared grief and shared adversity to bring people together. Bring them through this, and you will be a hero too.”

Which was a nice thought but honestly Madanach just wanted his wife back. And Alistair too, who he couldn't sense but who he hoped was out there with her. Elisif seemed calm, but she also felt exhausted. That wasn't a good sign.

“I would trade that in a heartbeat to have Elisif back,” Madanach said quietly, staring at Maia, who'd been too tired to keep her eyes open and was barely visible under all the furs, but whose last words before falling asleep were that she hoped Mama was there in the morning. Never mind the Inquisition or being the Lord High Inquisitor of Thedas or Father of the Holy Infant Saviour. Right now, Madanach the Reach-King was far from home, utterly exhausted and nothing other than a lonely man who missed his wife.

“Maybe Maferath thought that from the high throne in Denerim in the years after her death, but the evidence suggests otherwise,” Giselle observed, getting to her feet. “The difference now is that you admit it freely, and we all know it to be true. She left willingly to save us all, and you did not want her to go. Someone cries 'For the Herald!' and your first instinct is to adopt it as a rallying cry. Maferath was jealous of his wife's popularity but you are pleased. Maferath would be king, but you lead in her memory, because it was what she asked of you. That is what is changing everything. Maybe this is the Maker's will, to rewrite history as it should have been.”

_Screw the Maker, I want my wife._

“If he brings her back to me, I'll consider the truth of your words,” Madanach said, too tired to argue and knowing he'd say something untoward otherwise. And then he became aware of a shadow at the tent entrance, looking up to see Grand Enchanter Fiona hovering uncertainly outside. “Mother, if you'll excuse me?”

Giselle took her leave and Madanach was left with a shaky and tearful Fiona.

“I'm sorry, Madanach, I know you're busy, I just… was wondering if you'd heard anything.”

About Alistair, Madanach presumed. Who he was also missing and worrying about, but if he was with Elisif, he was probably fine.

“Not a lot, and if Alistair turns up, you will be the first to know,” Madanach promised, moving over as Fiona settled down on the pelts next to him. “I can tell you Elisif is not dead, and I believe she's on her way to us, which is partly why I ordered the camp. That and we can't go any further, not tonight.”

“And is Alistair with her, do you think?” Fiona whispered, hope shining in her eyes and Madanach felt for her, he really did. Losing a child was horrific under any circumstance but Fiona had only just acknowledged him. To lose him so soon would be devastating for her. But he couldn't lie to her either.

“Yes, probably, but I have no real way of knowing,” Madanach admitted. “I do know she would not leave him behind if he was alive. Also, she seems happy enough. I think she'd be more torn up if she knew he was dead or didn't know what had happened to him.”

Fiona sagged with relief and Madanach smiled and put an arm round her.

“Eola will find them,” Madanach promised. “She's one of the best hunters I know. She'll find them, don't you worry.”

“Easier said than done,” Fiona whispered. Truer words had never been spoken, and Madanach, despite knowing Elisif was alive and moving and feeling OK, was still worrying.

_Come home soon, Elisif. I miss you._

If she turned up with Alistair in tow, Madanach would quite like that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically, I wrote this ages ago and had no idea we'd have this bit involving Maia gaining all that Holy Child iconography in the snow right before Christmas. ;) Madanach's designing the stained glass as we speak. Merry Christmas everyone.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elisif, Cicero and Alistair are lost in the mountains and one of them is not faring anything like as well as the others. It's fortunate help is on its way... and while the return home is not without its complications, the Inquisition might just have somewhere to run to after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! First chapter of the new year, and it still has a celebratory feel to it. A new cycle of hope reborn in the depth of winter, seemed appropriate.

They'd been walking for hours. It was cold, dark, they were still no nearer to wherever the Inquisition camp was, or even with any clear idea of where to go. Elisif was shrugging off the cold like one born to it, Cicero was coping – he'd inherited Kodlak's cold resistance – but Alistair was suffering.

“Alistair, come on, we'll be there soon,” Elisif said as Alistair fell behind for the fifth time.

Alistair didn't answer, and Cicero was glancing sceptically at her.

“Pretty Elisif, neither of us know exactly where this camp is or how to get there or how much further it will be or where exactly we are going, you should not make such promises,” Cicero murmured.

“I know, but we've got to keep his spirits up, he's not used to the cold like we are,” Elisif said, wondering why Alistair hadn't responded and starting to worry… and then she turned around to see him lying face down in the snow, about two hundred yards behind them.

“ALISTAIR!” she cried, cursing herself for not having checked on him more often, oh gods, what if he'd died, Madanach would be heartbroken, Maia would be heartbroken, _Fiona_ would never forgive her, oh gods, please don't be dead…

Elisif raced back to pick him up, nearly collapsing in relief as she realised he was alive… but clearly exhausted.

“'m. So. Cold,” Alistair whispered as she rolled him over and tried to rub some life into his cheeks – but even with her steel plate gauntlets off, her hands weren't terribly warm either.

“Alistair, please, you need to get up, you'll die if you stay here, please...” Elisif gasped, practically dragging him into an upright sitting position.

Alistair groaned, leaning into her but showing no signs of moving any time soon.

“I can't,” he whispered. “Elisif, I can't… just leave me here. I'll just slow you down.”

“No!” Elisif shouted at him. “I'm not leaving you, I only just found you, I will carry you myself if I have to, Cicero, give me a hand...”

Wearily, Cicero knelt down on Alistair's other side, but he didn't look optimistic.

“Elisif, he is not used to the mountain cold like we are,” Cicero sighed. “He is not wrong. We would both move faster if we left him behind.”

“I am _not_ leaving him,” Elisif hissed and Cicero merely shrugged.

“Then we bring him, but it will be slow going,” Cicero said. “It is a pity we are out of range of Odahviing. He could carry Alistair, and it would be easy to spot the camp from the air.”

“Maia's Thu'um tutor?” Alistair whispered, starting to wonder if he was hallucinating this. “How's he going to help?”

Elisif was desperate enough that it was worth a try.

“OD-AH-VIING!”

The Shout echoed into the sky, and all three sat expectantly, waiting for something to happen… but nothing did.

“He's not coming,” Elisif said sadly, although she wasn't surprised. “Waste of a Shout.”

“Why would he come when called,” Alistair said, confused. “Elisif? Who or what is Odahviing?”

“Doesn't matter, he's not here,” Elisif sighed. “Alistair, come on, are you sure you can't move?”

“I'm sure,” Alistair whispered. “I'm exhausted. I'm sorry.”

Elisif closed her eyes, heart breaking for them both… but she wasn't leaving him.

“Then I'm staying with you,” Elisif whispered, although they didn't have a tent or a lot of food, and her ability to build a fire or cook something on it was pretty rudimentary. “Cicero, you can track Eola, can't you? Summon Arvak and ride ahead without us, get help. I'm not leaving Alistair.”

Cicero wasn't listening. He'd pricked his ears up, staring into the distance with a frown, clearly sensing something.

“Cicero?” Elisif said, thinking now was really not the time to get distracted. “What is it??”

“Eola?” Cicero whispered, getting to his feet, and then Elisif saw it too. In the distance, emerging through the trees, fire. Very concentrated fire, approaching too slowly to be wildfire – and what would burn in a snow-covered mountain forest? It looked rather like a flame cloak, in fact.

“As the moth sees light and goes towards flame, she should see fire and go towards light,” Alistair whispered, certain he was now delirious.

“You're doing terribly at this deconversion business,” Elisif told him, recognising the line from the Chant of Light.

“Well, I haven't read the Tamrielic Chant of the Eight or whatever it's called, have I?” Alistair said, pouting. Elisif bit her lip before admitting they didn't exactly have one.

Alistair stared at her, before writing this whole thing off as a delusion brought on by the cold.

“That's crazy talk, you've got to have something,” Alistair said sleepily, closing his eyes, heedless of Elisif's cry of alarm.

“No, no, stay awake!” Elisif cried, shaking him, even as Cicero shrieked Eola's name and sprinted across the snow towards her.

Eola, swathed in flame, held up her hands to stop Cicero coming any nearer. Cicero obliged, hovering at the edge of the flame cloak and cooing as he danced around her. Picking up her pace, Eola hurried over, dropping to her knees besides Alistair and clucking her tongue at him.

“Now you should not be lying in the snow, that can't be good for you,” Eola purred, Restoration magic pouring into him from her hands. Alistair's eyes shot open as he gasped, inhaling deeply and then sitting up, suddenly looking flushed and healthy and a lot better than he had a minute ago. Eola kept casting until her magicka started to run out, then she stopped and reached into her pack for what Elisif recognised as a Tamrielic healing potion, Tamrielic stamina draught and some ice wraith essence. 

“Drink,” Eola ordered, and Alistair did as requested, downing each in turn, grimacing at the taste before blinking and looking around.

“Wait, what happened?” he gasped. “Where are we? Eola?? How'd you get here? Are we in the Inquisition camp already?”

“No, and you apparently do not do well in the mountains,” Eola scolded gently. “Cicero, summon Arvak. You're taking this one and riding ahead. Elisif and I will follow.”

Cicero pouted, and now that the flames had flickered out on her cloak, sidled up and started snuggling her, protesting that he'd missed his pretty Eola, he had, he had!

“I know, and I missed you too,” Eola purred. “But you need to move. You should be able to follow the trail of melted snow for most of the way, I don't think the snowstorm covered it all.”

Cicero pouted but did not argue, the thought of a warm bed and some food and ale cheering him up no end, and so he summoned Arvak, ignored Alistair's whisper of 'Maker's Breath…' and cheerfully told him to get on behind him.

“Go on,” Elisif told him. “I'll catch you up.”

“Are you sure,” Alistair whispered, now on his feet and looking better, if a little unsteady still. “I don't like leaving you.” He shot Eola a nervous glance, which if Elisif was honest, was entirely deserved. Eola might be Elisif's stepdaughter and the Harbinger of Jorrvaskr and not implicated in the deaths of any law-abiding citizens, but Elisif also knew full well that Eola had spent the last few years training extensively with her aunt and was now a highly-skilled necromancer. 

“I'll be fine,” Elisif told him. Rather her left alone with Eola than him. Alistair still didn't look keen but he did eventually mount Arvak behind Cicero, clinging on in terror as the undead demon horse took off into the night.

“All right, now that's sorted out,” Eola said, smile not fading as she gathered her supplies and returned to Elisif's side. “How about you tell me what exactly the deal is with young Alistair, hmm?”

“He's the same age I am,” Elisif pointed out, expertly dodging the question. “And he's the illegitimate son of the former King of Ferelden and Grand Enchanter Fiona, except she only acknowledged him tonight. Oh, and he's Dragonborn. Because the Alamarri people that the Fereldans and Avvar descend from were apparently Nords, and possibly Reachmen too, and at least one of them had the dragon blood.”

“So I've heard, and I look forward to reading the scholarship on the history and culture of the early Alamarri,” Eola said, smile not fading but definitely cooling. “But that's not what I meant. I've seen the looks, Elisif. I know you two went off to the Fallow Mire together, and then he comes back early, alone, and then has some sort of quarrel with my father? And then he's exiled to the mage camp, argues with you too about something, and then everything is awkward and I have my heartbroken and confused little sister wailing to me because she no longer understands what's going on? I have to say, she's not the only one. Please, enlighten me. What exactly is going on with Alistair, and are you – were you – having an affair with him? And does Da know? He hasn't executed him, so I suspect not, and yet...”

Elisif really didn't want to have this conversation but she also didn't have a choice. Eola would sense a lie, and quite honestly, a bisexual woman with two husbands should really be able to cope with open marriages.

“He turned me down,” Elisif said curtly. “He has also turned your father down. I don't know if the Chantry actually forbids men being with other men, or if it's just Alistair's personal preferences, or maybe it's the anti-adultery laws, but Alistair was raised by the Chantry and it's marked him, as strongly as seeing my husband murdered by a Talos-worshipping Thu'um-wielder did me.”

Eola's eyes had widened and kept widening throughout all this, as she pieced it all together, realised what the arguments must have been over and why Alistair had been keeping his distance… and still didn't entirely seem to believe it.

“Alistair turned you down??” Eola said, seeming a bit confused by this concept. “You, the Herald of Andraste? The Dragon of the North? Elisif the Fair, legendarily beautiful and fierce and charismatic Dragonborn hero?”

“There's no need to rub it in!” Elisif snapped. “He has principles about sleeping with married women, that's all!”

Eola had burst out laughing. 

“Oh now, that's adorable!” she laughed. “He said no because of his moral code. That's so sweet.”

It was a bit, even if it had hurt like hell at the time. Elisif couldn't help but smile, particularly as recent events had changed things.

“Well, he's since found out Fiona is his mother and it's the Chantry's fault he never knew and that she was never able to raise him, what with the Chantry encouraging elf-hate and taking Circle mages' kids away,” Elisif said, narrowing her eyes as she considered the Chantry. “And he's deconverted, which means he's rethinking things and has decided to go with what makes him happy. Which is why he kissed me earlier and now he's my boyfriend. I, er, haven't told your father yet. But I will! When I next see him.”

Eola's eyes had widened but she'd listened politely, even if it was clear she didn't entirely believe this.

“And you think my father will just accept this,” Eola said sceptically. “And not erupt in a jealous rage and kill Alistair and demand a divorce and take custody of Maia.”

“I would like to see him try!” Elisif growled, the dragon within seething at the possibility of someone taking her baby away. “Anyway, he has no moral high ground here. He was just as keen to get his hands on Alistair as I was. It's not like we didn't discuss any of this, you know.” 

Eola had gone very quiet, the fight seeming to have died out of her. 

“Wait… my father… also likes Alistair… like that?”

“Yes,” Elisif said, waiting for the reaction. “See, I said you should have told him you'd been with women in the past. He'd have understood.”

“Right,” Eola said faintly, not sure how to process this. “And Alistair said no? Aww. You know, I'm not sure Da's going to be ecstatic Alistair changed his mind about you but not him.”

“We'll see,” Elisif said, not convinced Alistair wasn't at least reconsidering. “They're still friends. I'll talk with your father, and then he and Alistair will talk – honestly, your father just enjoys his company, it doesn't have to be romantic.”

“That's what they all say,” Eola said, rolling her eyes. Still, she didn't seem inclined to argue any further and Elisif thought all might be well… until Eola emptied her pockets into her pack, attached her weapons to it and then started to strip off.

“Wait, what are you doing??” Elisif cried. “ _You're_ not my type!”

“Well don't look then,” Eola said, apparently completely unconcerned. “Look, I know you know about the Wolves of Jorrvaskr, and I know _everyone_ knows Cicero's a werewolf. Well, so am I, because I wasn't letting him go off and have fun on his own, completely unsupervised. And it's easier for everyone if I strip first. Now then. I'm about to change into a wolf. You're going sit on my back and hold on tight. And then we're chasing after Cicero. Does that sound like a plan?”

Eola had kept undressing, and Elisif had no opportunity to answer before she'd finished stowing her clothes and started shifting, fur rippling along her back, her body seeming to grow until gold fur seemed to explode out of her… and then it was over and a werewolf was kneeling in the snow, looking quizzically at her.

“I suppose I don't have a choice, do I,” Elisif sighed, carefully positioning herself on Eola's back and holding on tight. Eola let out something between a laugh and a bark and took off, Elisif clinging on to her fur and holding on for dear life. One thing was certain, when she got home and gave the Bards' College the official version of all this, there was no way she was mentioning this bit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Madanach woke with a start, a bit surprised to find a fully-clothed Fiona lying next to him before he recalled they'd been sitting up commiserating over their loved ones being out there and in trouble, and she'd fallen asleep on him. It had seemed rude to wake her. But someone was calling his name and it sounded like Cassandra.

“Fiona, wake up,” Madanach murmured. Had they found something?

Fiona stirred, rubbing her eyes as she sat up, staring at outside as she saw Cassandra approaching.

“What is it?” she whispered, as Cassandra pulled the tent flaps back.

“The scouts have seen something approaching. It looks… arcane. Some sort of purple light in the distance. Grand Enchanter, your input would be helpful.”

As close to approval as Fiona was ever likely to get from Cassandra, and so Madanach and Fiona left the tent, Inquisition guards taking up posts outside to protect Maia while she slept.

Cullen was there with soldiers at the camp entrance, and the flashing purple light was definitely there and getting closer, and Madanach had a feeling he'd seen it before. It was exactly the same shade as Arvak.

“It's Cicero,” Madanach realised, never having been so glad to see the little fool before. “CICERO! WE'RE OVER HERE!”

The light changed course and minutes later, the undead skeleton horse reared up out of the darkness, its grinning motley-clad rider seated on his back… and behind him, Alistair was clinging on, eyes shut and looking traumatised.

“Are we there yet?” Alistair groaned, finally opening his eyes. The first thing he saw was Madanach running towards him, and something like happiness followed by guilt flashed over his face. Now why would Alistair feel guilty? Chantry conditioning? Or something more?

He didn't know, but he made his way over anyway, and caught Alistair as the exhausted man slid gracelessly off Arvak, ending up in a heap on the floor.

“You're all right,” Madanach murmured, holding Alistair in his arms and not caring the outside of his armour was really not warm. Alistair was back and Alistair was fine, and Madanach could feel a lot of the strain and worry he'd been holding drain out of him. Elisif, he'd been able to sense, Eola he'd trusted not to do anything stupid, and Cicero… well, Cicero was a born survivor.

But Alistair was vulnerable and Alistair was prone to suicidal heroics and Madanach had feared for him. But here he was, all right.

“I'm cold!” Alistair moaned. “And really tired! And my backside hurts! I had to ride for hours on a skeleton demon horse behind a cackling madman!”

Madanach squeezed him tighter and kissed his forehead, trying not to laugh.

“You poor abused baby,” he murmured, stroking Alistair's hair. “Shall we get you a nice warm tent and something to eat and drink and a fur bed to fall asleep in?”

Alistair whimpered and nodded, clinging on to Madanach… at least until Fiona arrived.

“Alistair,” she cried. “Alistair, are you all right?” She dropped to her knees next to him and reached out for her son. Madanach lifted his upper body up and transferred Alistair to Fiona, not without some regrets, but it wouldn't be appropriate. Not without Elisif here too.

“Mum?” Alistair whispered. “Is that you?”

“Yes, yes, my son, it's me,” Fiona gasped, tears in her eyes as she held her son tightly. “You foolish boy, what were you thinking, I thought you'd died!”

“A darkspawn used blood magic to try and kill me, the Thu'um saved me, a mountain fell on us, and then we had to trek for hours through the snow, and then Elisif made me ride behind Cicero on a demon horse because I was too tired to continue,” Alistair said sleepily. “I missed you, Mum.”

“I missed you too, oh my son, I was so worried!” Fiona sobbed as she clung on to him, not looking up until more Inquisition soldiers approached, all looking wary of the demon horse.

“Help get Alistair back to camp and to the Grand Enchanter's tent,” Madanach ordered them. “And if there's a healer to spare, they need to take a look at him. I think he's mostly exhausted but wouldn't hurt to check.”

Alistair was helped to his feet, two soldiers there to support him and Fiona following behind, fussing over Alistair non-stop. Alistair either didn't mind or was too exhausted to object. 

So Alistair was all right and Cicero was here, and Cicero wasn't freaking out about Eola so she was likely fine as well, and Madanach could feel Elisif, not far away, alive if feeling really uncomfortable, so it looked like everyone had made it. Madanach personally couldn't wait to hear the story, but getting his wife back took priority.

“Cicero, where's Elisif,” Madanach asked, getting to his feet and brushing the snow from his kilt. “Not far behind, I trust?”

“No, no, not at all!” Cicero cooed, glancing over his shoulder. “She is with Eola and not far away… only it is probably best if Cicero rides back to find them himself. Do not worry, Madanach! Cicero will find them!”

Cicero wheeled Arvak round and galloped off into the night, still cackling away to himself. 

“Did you want us to follow him?” Cullen asked, and Madanach shook his head. 

“No, let him go,” Madanach sighed. “But have guards ready to intercept when he does return. Elisif will probably be all right but she won't have slept. We need to...”

They'd got as far as the camp gate when Madanach realised Elisif wasn't far away at all, whatever mode of transport she'd been using was clearly very fast and very agile, because she'd stopped moving and was yards away, if that. Madanach turned and saw her, staggering towards him, arms outstretched and crying his name.

He'd not moved so fast in a long time. He was rushing towards her, heedless of Cullen and Cassandra at his back, dropping to his knees and holding her in his arms, because she'd survived, of course she had, she always survived. But that didn't stop him worrying.

“You're alive,” he managed to get out, taking the Jagged Crown off and holding her to him.

“Corypheus got away,” she whispered.

“Doesn't matter, we'll find him and finish the job,” Madanach said, kissing her cheek. “You made it. That's the important thing. You came back.”

He held her tight, the lump in his throat making it difficult to talk, but she was here, she was back, she'd made it. Elisif had gone out to sacrifice herself and survived after all. 

“Eola with you?” he asked, feeling fairly certain she and Cicero would be fine but needing to ask.

“Yes, she's with Cicero, they'll be back in a bit,” she told him, before hesitating, seeming nervous as she asked her next question. 

“Is Alistair all right?” Elisif asked. “He rode on ahead with Cicero...”

“Yes, he's fine, Fiona's looking after him,” he told her, and Elisif sagged with relief in his arms.

“He's deconverted,” Elisif whispered, switching to Tamrielic. “He says he's not Andrastian any more. He says he's going to decide for himself what the right thing is from now on. And… if you're OK with it, he'd like to start seeing me.”

Oh. That was… well, it was a good thing, of course it was. But Madanach, now that this was actually happening, couldn't help but feel a bit hollow inside. Alistair had changed his mind… but not about him.

“Just you,” Madanach said quietly. “Not me.”

Elisif hesitated, then nodded guiltily.

“Yes,” Elisif said softly. “I mean, I can't assume… he didn't say anything about you as well. You'd need to ask him but...”

But don't get your hopes up, Madanach, was what she was saying. Which hurt more than he'd expected.

“Fine, we'll talk tomorrow,” Madanach said, getting up and helping her to her feet, doing his best to disguise the hurt inside... but she knew. She always knew, and the sadness and worry weren't actually helping. “Have him if you want, just keep the affection out of my sight.”

“Madanach...” Elisif whispered, reaching out and trying to comfort him. Madanach pulled her into his arms and kissed her again, more as a way to comfort himself than anything else.

“Just let me grieve, all right?” Madanach muttered. “I won't stop you, but don't expect me to be happy, OK?”

“OK,” Elisif whispered, too tired to argue, and Madanach led her into the camp, his mood picking up a bit as what looked like the entire camp had turned out as word had spread the Herald was back.

One look and the whispering broke out.

“She's alive! The Herald's alive!”

“She made it! She's not dead!”

“Or she came back...”

“Maker be praised!”

Madanach saw Mother Giselle's face, and Leliana's, and Roderick falling to his knees and looking transfixed, and Josephine and Sera, and Iron Bull towering over everyone and Borkul's outline easy to spot. Cackling from behind told him Cicero had made it back, and a glance over his shoulder revealed Eola there too, cuddling Cicero and smiling. Madanach wondered how she managed having two partners, before realising he'd be better off asking Cicero how he managed Eola being with Athis as well, and his heart sinking as he realised Cicero was the literal last person he wanted to discuss his love life with. He'd be more likely to ask Maia's advice.

_If my daughter can make it work, I will. And when we get home, I'm personally taking Athis out for a drink to talk to him._ And who knew, Alistair might change his mind about him too. Maybe.

_Thank you,_ he mouthed at Eola, who grinned back at him as she let Cicero go and came to stand on his other side, cuddling him for once.

“Am I forgiven?” Eola asked, smirking in a way that said she was only asking out of politeness, she already knew the answer.

“Yes, of course,” Madanach told her, kissing the top of her head. Slowly, the three of them made their way to the centre of camp to where the Inquisition inner circle were gathering, even Vivienne stirring for this, and Alistair making his way to the front with Fiona too (both making sure to keep the combined bulks of Borkul, Blackwall and Iron Bull in between them and Vivienne, of course).

And then, most surprising of all, someone who was up way past her bedtime darted through people's legs, boots and parka on over her nightdress but really not dressed properly at all, and Madanach would lay money on Maia having dressed herself in a hurry and escaped before the guards knew she'd gone.

“MAMA!” Maia cried, and Elisif knelt down to scoop her up, also guessing the same thing.

“Aren't you supposed to be in bed, little one?”

“I heard the cheering and woke up,” Maia admitted. “I wanted to see you!”

Elisif grinned and kissed her baby, having worried about her too.

“I'm glad you're here but don't make a habit out of it,” Elisif whispered. Madanach let go of Eola and turned to stroke his other daughter's hair, feeling the lump in his throat come back as he realised what was important and that it didn't matter if Alistair loved Elisif but not him. He put his arms around Elisif and Maia both and held them tight, and then held out his other arm to Eola, who looked a bit surprised but did join them. And then Cicero bounced over and started cuddling Madanach – not his actual wife, no, but his father-in-law, but what went on in Cicero's head, only Sithis knew.

The cheering intensified, and then Madanach heard it. Singing. Mother Giselle's voice, raised in a song that Madanach didn't know but that Leliana clearly did, her bard's voice rising into the air, and then a fine tenor that Madanach could not believe was coming from _Cullen,_ and then the entire camp was united in song… apart from several confused Tamrielites who were just smiling and going with it.

Madanach looked out across the crowd and his eyes met Alistair's, and Alistair's face flushed but he didn't look away. He just smiled awkwardly, almost shyly, and Madanach really wanted to be angry at him… but he couldn't. 

_I really want to hit you for stealing my wife's affections but I can't bring myself to do it. Damn you._

So Madanach kept on cuddling Elisif and drew some comfort from the fact that Elisif was too busy doting on Maia to notice Alistair, and it occurred to him he'd been sharing Elisif's affections since Maia came along anyway, hadn't he? And that Elisif would drop all her lovers in a heartbeat if her daughter needed something. Maybe he could work with this. 

The song reached its climax, singing that the dawn would come, and the skies were definitely lightening. Madanach recalled Mother Giselle's words, that they'd rewritten the Chant tonight. That in this version, Andraste had made the sacrifice voluntarily and Maferath had remained loyal… and now Andraste had come back to them.

Madanach looked at all the faces turned to his wife, adoration and hope on every one, and realised Mother Giselle might have a point.

_I'm really not a hero. I am an ageing maleficar barbarian. But if you insist…_

Maybe it was going to be all right after all. And so the song ended, and the crowd dispersed, people returning to their tents or their duties. The dawn really was coming, and Madanach had had about two hours sleep, which was two more than some people. Maia was sleepily cuddling her mother, and Eola gave him a kiss goodbye and slipped off with Cicero… and Alistair had left Fiona and was making his way over, looking incredibly awkward, and Madanach could guess what this was about. 

“Alistair,” Madanach said, folding his arms and trying to remember he was upset with the boy, except with him right there looking all shy and worried and really rather appealing, it was very difficult indeed. “Did you want something?”

A flick of his eyes to Elisif and Alistair nodded, before deciding to just get it out of the way.

“I kissed your wife,” Alistair blurted out. “I'm so sorry. Except I'm not. Because she's pretty and a really good kisser and… oh Maker, you're going to kill me, aren't you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You're my friend and I love you and I never meant… are you OK?”

Madanach had heard the 'I love you' bit and his brain had fixated on that and stayed there, because he could feel the anger fading and the jealousy carefully packing up and going home, and he'd quite forgotten there was anything to be upset about. Madanach stepped forward and traced his fingers alongside Alistair's cheek. 

“Yes, I do believe I am,” Madanach murmured, leaning in closer and then his lips met Alistair's, arms slipping around him and holding him close, firmly enough Alistair couldn't mistake the intent but not so strongly Alistair would have difficulty breaking free.

He was not attempting to break free, in fact he was moaning slightly and his own fingers were resting on Madanach's cheek for a good few seconds… until Alistair broke away, making little noises of confusion in his throat and staring at Madanach, clearly no longer sure what was happening.

“Was that all right?” Madanach murmured, still stroking Alistair's face. Alistair nodded, eyebrows knotting together in a confused frown.

“Yes?” Alistair whispered. “I mean… that was… weird? But OK? I… what happens now?” He was looking a bit panic-stricken, but Madanach had a feeling he'd be fine. Eventually.

“How much sleep have you had?” Madanach asked and Alistair's vacant whisper of 'sleep?' said it all.

“Then you should take care of that,” Madanach told him, pointing him in Fiona's direction – ah. Fiona was staring stony-faced at him and Madanach realised he perhaps should have given more thought to the fact this meant he had in-laws now.

Fiona said not a word to him, just grabbing Alistair by the arm and hauling him away, sparing Madanach an icy glare over her shoulder. Ah. Well, at least Elisif would protect him, right? He hoped so.

He turned to see how she was reacting, and realised she was explaining the whole thing to Maia.

“Because Alistair's cute and your daddy and me both like him,” Elisif was telling her. “So you'll be seeing more of him!”

“YAY!” Maia cried, clearly very pleased with this, and that was one conversation out of the way.

“You told her?” Madanach said, holding out his arms and taking Maia off her mother.

“Yes, thought it best to head off the questions early on,” Elisif said calmly. “Seeing as you and Alistair appear to be getting on after all.”

Madanach could feel himself blushing a bit, particularly as Maia was giggling and whispering “you were kissing him, Daddy!”

“Yes, yes, I was,” Madanach said gruffly. “Because Alistair's very cute and needs someone to take care of him and show him some affection, so… I guess I'll be doing that. With some help from your mother, of course.”

“Are you marrying him, Daddy?” Maia asked, eyes wide. “Am I going to have two daddies like the twins?”

“What?” Madanach managed to get out. “No! I mean, not yet! Seriously, you don't get married to someone after just one kiss! Honestly, Nords!”

“It's true, you need an Amulet of Mara as well,” Elisif said, grinning, and Madanach decided this conversation was over.

“No,” Madanach said firmly. “Not just yet, it's far too soon. You start talking about marriage this early, he'll get scared and run away. Come on, little one, time you went back to bed. Tent's this way, Elisif.”

“I'll be right there,” Elisif said, but she'd seen Solas watching them from the shadows, and on seeing she'd seen him, he'd emerged. “Hello Solas, did you want something?”

“Just a moment of your time, Herald,” Solas said, mysterious little smile on his face. “It won't take long.”

“All right,” Elisif said, motioning for Madanach to take Maia away, waving goodbye to an excited little girl and following Solas to the edge of the camp, where the rest of the valley, now a snow-covered wasteland where a village had once been, spread out before them. Elisif couldn't quite bring herself to look at the view.

“What did you need?” Elisif asked, as Solas planted a torch into the snow and conjured magefire on it.

“It's not my needs I wished to speak of,” Solas said, glancing up at her, and was it Elisif's imagination or did he seem nervous about something? “It was the Inquisition's that concerned me.”

Elisif glanced back at what was an extremely orderly and well-organised camp considering they'd had to flee in a hurry. 

“I realise things are a bit desperate at the moment, but we will find another base, and I will see Corypheus dead for this, I swear it,” Elisif said grimly.

“Yes, and I believe you,” Solas said, smiling as he glanced up from where he'd been gazing into the magefire. “But there are other things you should be aware of. Such as the orb that Corypheus was using. It is elven.”

“Elven…” Elisif murmured thoughtfully. “You must have good eyes to have seen the orb, you weren't with me when I saw him up close.”

“I saw him carrying it when he first arrived, when we all saw him,” Solas said, shifting a little. “I did not need to see it up close to identify it. I have seen its like in the Fade. It is a focus, an ancient elven artefact, the craft of manufacturing of which has been long lost to time. But it seems Corypheus has found one.”

Which was not good, but it wasn't all bad either. Elisif wondered if Liriel might know more about them, if they had something similar in Alinor.

“Do you know what it does?” she asked. Solas hesitated before answering – did he not know or not want to tell her?

“It's a focus for magical energies,” Solas told her. “The exact purpose can vary. As to what Corypheus intends, that might be an easier question to answer. You are aware of Varric's encounter with Corypheus, in which Corypheus claimed to be one of the magisters who physically entered the Fade all those years ago.”

Elisif had heard the story. It seemed a little unbelievable – not physically entering a spirit realm, because she'd done that herself before now. But to have it unleash such horrific corruption as the Blight? That was worrying, and Elisif had to wonder just where they'd gone and what they'd done.

Well. One thing Corypheus definitely had done was cause the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and he'd sacrificed Divine Justinia to do it. Elisif could guess what he'd intended.

“Let me guess,” Elisif sighed. “He's using ancient elven magic to try and re-enter the Fade. Does he want a cure or something?”

“Who knows,” Solas said, shrugging, although Elisif had a feeling he knew more than he was telling. “I don't claim to know the mind of such a creature. What I do know is that he must be stopped, and that orb reclaimed, ideally without the world at large knowing he is using elven magic. The backlash against the elven people would be unimaginable. We cannot let that happen.”

Elisif shuddered at the thought. It would be like the Markarth Incident all over again, except repeated across an entire continent and with the backing and encouragement of the alleged moral arbiter, the keepers of Thedas's conscience soothing those of the murderers and telling them their actions were holy in the Maker's sight.

No, Elisif could not let that happen, and she grimly realised there would be no return to Tamriel for her, not just yet. She had to stay and sort this out, seize the moral leadership of Thedas for herself because Mara knew the Chantry had failed completely and would keep on doing so.

Of course, just how to do that was a little beyond her.

“I will bring him down,” Elisif promised. “And I'll get his orb if I can, make sure none of Thedas's human mages get the chance to examine it.” Liriel would likely want to see it, and Madanach might find it of interest as well. Maybe the Empire could use it… for something that didn't involve ripping open the Gates of Oblivion, of course. 

Solas did seem pleased with that, possibly a bit too pleased, but Elisif was too distracted to notice. 

“Then you will need help,” Solas said thoughtfully. “Specifically, you will need a base. What if I were to tell you I knew of somewhere that might suit? It is not too far from here, although it will take some days to find. It lies in ruins but it was a strong fortress once. It could be again, and its magical protections remain intact. You could use it. The elves knew it as Tarasyl'an, the place where the sky was held. Humans know it as Skyhold.”

Skyhold. A strong Nordic name if ever there was one. And now one of the Children of the Sky would claim it as her own stronghold. An auspicious start.

“Skyhold,” Elisif whispered in Tamrielic. It was worth a try. Kyne knew they didn't have anywhere else to go. She switched back to Thedosian. “All right. We won't be going anywhere today, but tomorrow, we'll set out for it. We'll see what state it's in when we get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a direct follow on, picking a few other characters' versions of the battle, not to mention Fiona telling Alistair off. ;)
> 
> I think someone asked me if Maia was really the Herald of Andraste not Elisif - well, technically neither of them are. :) Herald of Andraste is just what people are calling Elisif because they believe Andraste delivered her from the Fade to save them all. Which is... not exactly true but no one's going to convince Elisif's devoted followers otherwise now. But both Elisif and Maia are genuine Dragonborns, and Maia could definitely fill Elisif's shoes as a Holy Child for the faithful to rally round if anything happened to Elisif. However, she couldn't be Inquisitor. Someone else with leadership skills and experience would have to do that. Namely her father. He'd be a somewhat ruthless one but he'd get the job done.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's romantic choices do not exactly meet with his mother's approval, but the bond between mother and son can survive a few disagreements, and formalising his relationship with Elisif leads to some surprising revelations. Meanwhile Liriel's recovering from her own exertions during the battle, but none of that was as taxing as arbiting between Solas and Sera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered splitting this one into two, but it just about goes into one. And considering the time this took to write, it seems a bit weird to be just posting it. But never mind. Here it is. One chapter covering the remaining bits between fleeing Haven and arriving at Skyhold so there's a lot to get in.
> 
> Liriel's wartime experiences are based on the main storyline in TES Legends, the online card game which I highly recommend even if I am terrible at it. She's the Forgotten Hero! (And she'd like it to stay that way.)

Alistair was not, it was fair to say, in the best state of his life, and it was about to get worse, because Fiona had dragged him into their tent, sat him down on his bedroll and was now staring him down furiously.

“What has got in to you??” Fiona seethed. “You told him you _loved_ him? Admitted to having _kissed his wife??_ You told me before that you'd said no to them both!”

“I did!” Alistair cried. “But… well… she's a hero and she's beautiful and I couldn't leave her to face Corypheus on her own so I went back to help. And he was winning, Mum, he was _torturing_ her, if I hadn't stopped his magic, who knows what might have happened? Then he started using the taint in my blood to do… something… to me, and it was the Thu'um Maia taught me that saved me. And then Cicero set the trebuchet off and disappeared down a tunnel he found and we ran after him… and we lost sight of him for a bit… and that's when I ended up kissing her. Because she's amazing and I love her and she makes me feel like a hero too.”

Fiona did not look convinced, in fact she was rubbing her forehead looking absolutely despairing. She sat down on her own bedding, knees to her chest and head resting on them.

“You do not need to sleep with a married woman to be a hero, my son,” Fiona whispered. “I wanted better for you than to be some noble's kept man!”

Which stung because it wasn't like that, not for him… and he didn't think that was the case for either Elisif or Madanach either.

“I'm not their kept man,” Alistair said stubbornly. “I love her. And… I love him too. I didn't think you had a problem with same-sex relationships.”

“I don't!” Fiona snapped, bristling at that as she looked up. “We had a couple consisting of two men in our Warden squad for long enough, neither Duncan nor I had a problem with it. I'm more concerned about you tagging along after the two of them, not realising that they love each other more than they'll ever love you!”

Alistair flinched, because what if it was true? What if they did? What if… and then Alistair remembered Elisif stepping down off the trebuchet, a proud warrior-queen glorying in her victory, and he remembered wanting to kiss her very very badly. He still wanted to kiss her, and he could feel the part of him that stirred whenever he heard the Thu'um, stirring now and growling that he would keep kissing her and more until she was quite limp in his arms, no thoughts in her head but those of him. And then there was Madanach, crazy, dangerous, sweet, tender Madanach who he just wanted to take care of and cuddle.

“If they love me at all, it will be more than I had,” Alistair snapped, and then he flinched to see the unhappiness in Fiona's eyes.

“Son, please,” Fiona said quietly. “You can do better than this. I know they are not Orlesian nobles who think the peasants are their property, but this is not the life I wanted for you.”

“Well, given my entire life so far has largely been things I didn't want, and a big chunk of that was down to my parents never ever bothering to take care of me themselves, I think I'm entitled to a bit of happiness, don't you?” Alistair snapped at her, and immediately he regretted it because she'd gasped, flinched away and looked like she was about to cry, and the guilt cut him to the core.

“Mum, I'm sorry, that was completely unfair, I know it wasn't your fault, I just...” He reached out to touch her, but Fiona shifted slightly away.

“Don't say it, son, I know what you meant,” Fiona said quietly, and Alistair's heart broke to hear the pain in her voice. “You're angry at me for abandoning you and you want to know what right I have to tell you how to live your life… and you are right. I cannot stop you doing what makes you happy. I just wish… I just wish for you to be happy and safe and loved and… maybe they will do a better job of it than I did.” Her voice broke on the last syllable and she turned away, starting to fuss with her bedding, and Alistair could feel tears welling up. Had he just broken his mother? Maker, could he do anything right?

“Mum,” he whispered, scrabbling after her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Please don't be like that. I love you, you know it. You're my mother, of course I love you, I don't hate you, I know you didn't want to leave me. I just didn't have a happy childhood… or a happy adulthood… Duncan was the only person who genuinely ever cared and he died too… but I know you thought you were doing the right thing. Please forgive me.”

Fiona shuddered, but she did turn around, embracing him with her cheek pressed to his. 

“You don't need my forgiveness, my son, if anything I should be asking you that,” Fiona whispered tearfully. “That you are even willing to acknowledge me is more than I deserve. I don't approve but it is not my life or my decision. Maker willing, your life will not go the way mine did. They are not Orlesian after all.”

“Is that so bad?” Alistair asked, surprised. “You're Orlesian, aren't you?”

Fiona laughed bitterly. “I'm not a noble, my son. I am an elf and then a mage, doubly enslaved. I would not horrify you with tales of what it is like there, but it will suffice to say that Orlais is a beast with no natural predators and so it has turned on itself. The nobles have their glittering estates, but even they are not truly free. Orlais is somewhere I will be glad to never return to. I pity your Herald for she will be forced to deal with the beast.”

Alistair really didn't envy Elisif there… except something occurred to him. Orlais didn't presently have a natural predator… but perhaps one might be stirring.

“Tamriel might be Orlais's natural predator,” he whispered. “They don't treat elves like they do there. Nobles there don't think they own the peasants. Cicero and Elisif both said so.”

“I'd need to visit for myself, I think,” Fiona said, but amusement had returned to her voice. “You'll forgive me for not entirely taking Cicero's word on the subject.”

“I'll ask Elisif nicely if she'll take us both to visit,” Alistair whispered, suddenly desperately curious to see for himself. Elisif had always spoken of Skyrim as similar geographically to Ferelden, and wistfully said Ferelden reminded her of home. Alistair really would like to see the place for himself.

For some reason, Fiona's grip on him had tightened, and while Alistair didn't think she was going to cry again, something about that had got to her. 

“I would like that,” Fiona said softly. She squeezed him again and let him go, patting his cheek.

“Go on, sleep,” Fiona told him, her voice gentle and kind, their earlier argument forgotten, or at least forgiven, it seemed, and Alistair finally relaxed a little. His mother still loved him. That was something, at least. “We can talk more in the morning, and I can speak with Madanach and Elisif and make clear that you are not to be ill-treated and abused.”

“Yes Mum,” Alistair said, feeling acutely embarrassed as he stripped off his outer gear and slid into his bedroll. That was all he needed, his mother staring down his lovers and lecturing them as well as him.

And yet the fact that someone cared whether this worked out or not, the fact that someone had his back if it didn't, the fact that he had a protector other than the Herald… that was entirely unexpected and something he liked very much.

This having a mother was nothing like he'd expected. _Fiona_ was nothing like he'd ever imagined. He'd thought his mother was ordinary, just an ordinary woman who'd caught the eye of a king and possibly not had a choice in the matter. He'd thought he'd killed the woman just by being born, and left his half-sister an orphan, something she'd hated him for. But no. His mother had chosen his father, had loved and admired his father, Goldanna wasn't even his kin and not someone he owed anything to, and most importantly, he'd not killed his mother. His mother was important, talented, powerful in her own right, and alive to love him.

Which meant maybe he could be special too. Worthy of being a Dragon-Queen's lover? Worthy of having a Reach-King in his bed? 

Worthy of being a hero in his own right?

Well. He probably shouldn't get too far ahead of himself. But worthy of a bit of love and respect?

Alistair had never really believed that before. But with a mother who loved him and wanted to protect him, and a man who wanted to be with him, and a hero and queen to impress… Alistair was just starting to think maybe he could be happy after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Liriel meanwhile was about to drop from exhaustion. First helping seal the Breach. Then celebrating back at Haven, and what was in those drinks, she didn't want to think. She'd just about sobered up when Bull had grabbed her arm, telling her the mages needed her to fight… and so she'd found herself at the head of a phalanx of mages, her magicka getting blood-bound to theirs, trying out the Moving Fire Storm for real.

The distant fireballs of death had banished the last of the drunkenness for real, but there hadn't been time to think. Elisif was helping keep the trebuchets clear, but the ones not engaging her were scaling the palisade. And so Liriel, drained of magicka, had had to summon the gift of the Highborn to regenerate it, heal her arms and take the fight to them.

She'd not been part of an army in decades, and her experience then had been largely confined to remaining at camp in the field hospital, or out on patrols.

_Apart from that one time where a routine patrol went wrong, you ended up captured by Boethiah worshippers, nearly died, escaped with one of the Blades and it all ended up with you in someone else's armour, with someone else's sword, at the head of someone else's army, committing treason._

But Liriel did not like thinking about that, even if the experience had at least left her in good shape for dealing with the Red Templar invasion. Bull hadn't hesitated, just roared into the fight, and she'd been left with no choice but to back him up magically. She didn't remember a lot after that, just spell after spell after spell, Sera on the inn roof taking potshots at the enemy, Dorian behind her raising corpses to turn the tide, and Cassandra who was calling Dorian all sorts of things in between bashing Red Templar heads in. Apparently necromancy was frowned on over here, there was a surprise. 

Despite that, things hadn't been going too badly until the dragon arrived. 

Sera had leapt off the roof, screaming as the dragon flew overhead, and they'd all had to take cover as fire hit the inn roof where Sera had been crouched not a second ago.

“Dragon!” Sera had cried, clinging on to Liriel. “Did you see that?? They've got a fucking dragon!”

“I saw!” Liriel said, turning her attention to the skies. “Get shooting, Sera. We have a Dragonborn out there too, we bring it down, she'll finish it off in no time.”

Sera, to her credit, had been a bit too generally weirded out to argue and had taken aim, but the dragon was tougher than they'd thought… and then Madanach had been there, Vivienne behind him, shouting for them all to fall back to the Chantry and regroup, and to help cover civilians. And then he'd used Ice Storm to put out the inn roof, and gone in with several of the MageGuard to dig Flissa out, get her walking with the aid of some healing magic, before running off to the apothecary just in time for another ice blast to put fires out there and get Adan and Minaeve out of there.

“Come on, you heard him, let's go!” Sera urged her, but Liriel couldn't go. Not with Bull still out there fighting.

“We can't leave him,” Liriel cried, recasting her mage armour. “I'm getting him out of there!”

That had got Solas's attention.

“Liriel, you cannot be serious, if he wishes to throw his life away or indulge in petty bloodlust that's his problem!”

Liriel ignored him and ran for the outer perimeter, where Bull was helping that far too pretty Templar Lysette fend off another squad of Red Templars.

“Liriel!!!” Solas shouted after her, but to no avail. A fireball had blasted one off its feet, chain lightning had got two others, and now Liriel was downing the last of the Tamrielic magicka potions she had on her, casting a flame cloak spell with one hand, and then bound swords in both and showing a few melee skills none of them had even known she had.

“Well now, that's actually impressive,” Vivienne remarked. “And intriguing. Don't tell me the art of the Knight-Enchanter is alive and well among Tamriel's elves.”

“Liriel won't be either if we don't help!” Solas shouted, face flushed as he ran after her. Sera raised her bow and took aim, and Vivienne decided she could stay and help out for this one. Bull was too charming to abandon and the presence of an elven Arcane Warrior was something Vivienne felt merited preserving.

And so Vivienne sailed into battle, one Knight-Enchanter alongside another, her own spirit blade ready to deal with the inevitable moment they tried to attack her, and with five of them plus Lysette the Templar, it wasn't long before that wave were dispatched.

“That was some impressive fighting,” Lysette noted, eyeing Vivienne's golden spirit blade and Liriel's glowing purple bound swords. “I knew Enchanter Vivienne was a Knight-Enchanter, I didn't know you'd learnt the art too.”

“I was conscripted into my country's armed forces for mandatory military service and we ended up going to war during it, don't give me credit for learning it,” Liriel said, gasping for breath and dismissing her weapons, ignoring Solas's raised eyebrows and Bull glancing at her, surprised but pleased. “Shall we fall back like Madanach said?”

So they'd fallen back, just about made it to the Chantry, and then there'd been the hastily flung together evacuation operation, as Elisif had gone out to save them all and they'd fled into the night through barely-remembered mountain pathways, nearly dying in a blizzard, and only sheltering behind Iron Bull's bulk had made it remotely bearable. Liriel, it was safe to say, was not an elf adapted to cold weather.

But the storm had passed, and Liriel had ended up cuddling Bull out of sheer relief to see clear skies, and to her surprise, he'd grinned, smiled at her, put an arm round her and helped her onwards.

And then they'd camped and Liriel had ended up in the infirmary helping the healers. Given the number of battle-wounded, and those suffering from hypothermia or frostbite or both, she'd not slept yet, her magicka was drained, Gift of the Highborn wasn't going to be available for hours yet, and Liriel had reluctantly turned to those lyrium potions the Thedosian mages used. She really didn't like them.

But the last of the patients, a middle-aged elf whose feet Liriel had just saved, was being settled in for the night, and Liriel could look forward to sleep soon.

“Bless you, healer,” the elf whispered. “Auriel guide your path.”

“And yours,” Liriel said automatically, before recalling that this wasn't even one of the mages. “Hang on, who told you about Auriel?”

“Everyone's talking about Him,” the elf whispered. “All the elves anyway. Auriel, the Maker, the real Maker, the Father of Elves! It's not true what the Chantry says, is it? We're not further from the Maker, we're his children! It's the humans that were created. That's what they say, isn't it?”

“It's what they say,” Liriel said quietly. “But say it quietly and not where the Chantry sisters can hear you.”

The elf smiled and nodded and squeezed her hand and Liriel left the tent, disconcerted. Word of Auriel was spreading. Liriel hadn't expected that, although perhaps that had been naive of her.

But the elves were starting to convert to Auriel worship. The elves, if they continued down that road, would end up starting a bloody revolution. Which wasn't something Liriel was opposed to in principle, in fact it was long overdue in her opinion. Only Liriel also was uncomfortably aware that the Chantry would have no difficulty tracing this Auriel heresy back to her, and that would have consequences. At present, the Inquisition could protect her, but that might not always be the case.

The Tamrielic Empire might not be able to protect her either. But the Empire was far, and Liriel's most immediate concerns were a bed and sleep.

At least until a figure stepped out of the shadows to intercept her. Solas, who'd clearly just come from talking with Elisif.

“Liriel,” Solas said, reaching out to her as she barely suppressed a yawn. “Are you all right? I saw you in the fighting, and I know you've been up all night. You must be exhausted.”

“I'm fine,” Liriel said, not terribly convincingly. “I just need sleep.”

“Then I'll help find you a tent,” Solas said, taking her arm, his voice gentle and caring and Liriel could quite get used to someone looking after her. The fact that his grip was a little too tight, and he was taking the lead, she would only later realise bothered her a little.

“Thank you,” Liriel said, grateful for the help. “I've been with the healers all night – could use a rest. I think they're all going to make it.”

“So I heard,” Solas replied as he steered her around to a communal tent where Liriel spotted various others settling down – Dorian, Varric and Sera among them. “Your magic is impressive. Didn't you say during the battle that you'd been an army conscript before? A battlefield healer?”

“Yes,” Liriel said shortly. “And no, I don't want to talk about it. Let's just say nothing ever goes to plan in war, and it didn't. And my country were beaten back and had to sign a peace treaty. I mean, we got to dictate terms, but we had to settle when we'd expected to win. A lot of my people died.”

As had the Empire's people, and it turned out Lord Naarifin of the Dominion had been planning to sacrifice the entire population of the Imperial City to rip open the Gates of Oblivion in a blood magic rite and gain the power of a god. Whether he'd had the sanction of his superiors, Liriel didn't know, but she couldn't let that happen. She'd been raised on too many of her mother's stories of helping save the Dominion from the Oblivion Crisis. Ripping open Oblivion's Gates and summoning armies of daedra through was a disaster, a crime so great any means were justified in preventing it. Including committing treason, and thank Auriel no one in the Dominion had known it was her, the confusion of the Imperial victory making it very easy to sneak back home along with lots of other fleeing Aldmeri soldiers, and her high-ranking mother being so relieved she wasn't dead that few questions were asked.

Liriel had moved on, tried to forget, hoped no one would ever dig too deeply into her past. But here she was in Thedas, and it turned out this Corypheus had tried exactly the same thing. It was bringing back uncomfortable memories, and the worst part was, she couldn't talk to anyone about it. She could not risk anyone knowing, or it might get back to the Dominion, and then she'd never be safe again. They'd want her head on a pike.

“And here you are again in the midst of conflict,” Solas sighed, guiding her to a fire and setting her down, before finding a clean bowl nearby and filling it with soup. “I don't suppose you thought coming here would be easy, but I cannot believe you expected this.”

That was true enough.

“We'd realised there was another continent out there that no one knew about, and there was a rescue mission to retrieve Elisif planned, of course I wanted to see what it was like,” Liriel laughed bitterly as she accepted the bowl. “Fame, fortune, my name on a book, guaranteed tenure at any academic institute in Tamriel. Why wouldn't I want to come? I wasn't expecting luxury, but I also thought it was generally agreed on that the Veil between Mundus and Aetherius and Oblivion should _stay intact!_ The gods put it there for a reason.”

She was too busy focusing on the warmth from her bowl of hot soup to notice the way Solas flinched.

“What stories do your people have of the Veil?” Solas asked, taking a seat next to her. “I'm assuming you have one. And you spoke of two realms – Aetherius and Oblivion.”

“The realms of the Aedra and Daedra – spirits and demons, you'd call them,” Liriel said, recalling all she'd learned and wishing she'd brought more books. “The Aedra are the gods, our ancestors. The mortal world, Mundus, was created from Aetherius, by the Aedra, led by the Eight, and Auriel was their leader. But many of the Aedra had to die to make it, and many more were tricked into losing their immortality, trapped in Mundus, sundered from the immortal world of Aetherius. Those trapped Aedra became the Elves, Altmer. Like me. And Auriel regretted what he'd done, but couldn't undo it, but he gave us the sun and stars so magic could still come through. The humans… they were different. They were created by the Aedra, they were never Aedra themselves. They were created by Lorkhan – he was the one whose idea creating Mundus was. They think he's a hero for creating the world, and for dying in the process. Or possibly Auriel killed him in revenge. The stories are all different. But we were Aedra once, immortal beings of Aetherius. And now we aren't. We're sundered from Auriel forever, but our magic's a connection to him. And maybe we can find a way back there one day, a magical means of crossing over to Aetherius to rejoin our kin. But there's always been those willing to do the unthinkable to do it. Like using mass blood sacrifice to destroy the Veil and just bring anything through.”

Liriel couldn't hide the bitterness in her voice at just how willing her kin were to just destroy everything in pursuit of lost immortality. As if destroying Auriel's creation would make them worthy of a place in Aetherius. She barely noticed Solas's guilty look, swiftly hidden.

“The Daedra are different,” Liriel continued. “They were never involved with creating this world. They're not our ancestors. And their realm, Oblivion, is different. They're fascinated by our realm but they're not safe. Most of them are downright evil. They're forces of change and chaos. You start slashing the Veil to bits and letting them through, bad things happen. Like now.”

Solas didn't seem able to meet her eyes, staring into the fire.

“Those tales reflect the lore of the ancient elves very precisely,” Solas said quietly. “Never mind the Avvar coming from Tamriel, it is entirely possible the elves of Thedas and Tamriel share common ancestry. You and I are closer kin than we realised.”

Liriel did look up then, surprised to hear Thedas's elves had once had similar lore. None of the other elves seemed to know very much of their history… but given what Tevinter and the Chantry between them had done to the elves of Thedas, perhaps that wasn't a surprise.

“No wonder they're all so eager to hear tales of Auriel,” Liriel realised. A story where elves had once been gods must be music to the ears of an oppressed people. 

“Small wonder indeed,” Solas agreed. “You are giving an entire people a confidence they never previously had. I'm not sure you even realise what you've set in motion… but I am glad you've done it. Elves have lost so much of their history, their past. If Tamriel has even a fraction of elven lore and history, if any scholars specialise in elven lore… well, you spoke of being admitted as a tenured professor in academic institutions, they must allow elves.”

“The _elven_ ones do, to be sure,” Liriel growled. “As do all the others – let me guess, the secular academic institutions here do not?”

“The University of Orlais recently started doing so a few years ago, at Empress Celene's order,” Solas said, bittersweet smile on his face. “They are still not allowed full professorship and the decision was not a popular one. There is a reason the usurper Gaspard found such support for his bid for the throne.”

Liriel shuddered at the thought, and was just glad Elisif had won her own civil war, with the advantage of being personally Dragonborn. The thought of Ulfric and people who thought like him running Skyrim – it didn't bear thinking about.

_I didn't betray the Dominion so humans could enslave elves in turn._

But Orlais's problems were nothing she could solve tonight, and then Sera's arrival took her mind off it.

“Hey! Liri-bells! Is he being all elfy at you again?”

“I am an elf, so is Liriel, so are you for that matter,” Solas said tersely. “You could do worse than to take an interest in the plight of your fellows.”

“I do!” Sera protested, taking a seat next to Liriel. “I help lots of elves in Orlais who get buggered about by the nobles. I also help lots of _humans_ who get buggered about by Orlesian nobles. I help people who need help. I don't care if their distant ancestors were once immortals from the Fade or if their ancestors have come from a long line of people who swept streets and cleaned privies for a living. If you're in trouble now, we'll help you out now, but ancient elven history's no good to some poor sod on the streets of Val Royeaux, is it?”

Which… was something Liriel could actually agree with and that surprised her, because normally Sera irritated her on principle.

“We're not talking about elven history, we're talking about Tamriel's present and how it might best be used to start an elven revolution in Thedas,” Liriel told her. “Don't tell me it doesn't need one.”

“Perhaps,” Sera said, shrugging. “But what it doesn't need is him being the bloody dictator of all elvenkind and leading a purge against the humans in turn, and then breaking the Veil trying to make elves immortal again, breaking everything to try and rebuild some lost elven kingdom that none of us know about, remember or even _want._ ”

This was finished with a pointed stare at Solas, who'd flushed red and was glaring viciously at Sera.

“If you'd seen the things I had, if you knew what we'd _lost!_ ” Solas snapped, but Sera was having none of it.

“What, glittering visions in the Fade? Newsflash, Solas, but rule number one, that even I know and I know _nothing_ about magic, is that demons _lie,_ ” Sera flung back. “For all we know, they've been making shit up your entire magical career.”

“They were NOT…!” Solas shouted, furious at Sera, and Liriel had to physically reach out to settle them both down.

“All right,” Liriel cried. “That's enough! Solas, you should know that the Fade's not always reliable. Sera, you've not seen the entirely real things I've seen back in Alinor… and if elven civilisation here was anything like Alinor, I'll find out. Look, I can't sort out human problems. It's not my problem if Orlesian nobles mistreat Orlesian peasants. But they mistreat elves and I have a very personal interest in putting a stop to it. You might have been a peasant all your life, doesn't mean I was.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Sera growled, getting up and pushing Liriel away. “Sure, you were a noble back home and it bothers you that no one over here's treating you that way, I know, I get it. But you wanna make things better for elves over here, you better do it because it's the right thing to do, not because you want to take over as a noble yourself.”

“Sera!” Liriel cried, because it wasn't like that. She didn't want to be a queen or Jarl or anything! She just wanted to do her magical and historical research without humans automatically thinking she was here to clean the privies or handing her their laundry or dirty plates. 

“Leave her,” Solas sighed, hand on her shoulder. “She does not understand. She will never understand. She is determined not to. Others will understand. You know how many more have had their hope for a better future restored.”

Liriel knew, and the knowledge Sera was an anomaly among elves consoled her a little. All the same, Sera's words had hit home. The elves of Thedas needed help, but damned if Liriel knew how to do it. Not without making something worse happen.

Still, not her problem, not tonight. And so Liriel turned in, and if her dreams were dreams of Auriel whispering in her ear that she could be the great Queen of the Thedosian Elves and lead the lost Mer of the South, the Erinmer, to glory once more, that was no one's business but her own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Morning came and with it a camp barely stirring. The guards changed duty, a few hunting parties and scouts set out but most of the camp slept in until late afternoon, recovering from a traumatic night that too many hadn't made it through at all.

But Alistair was alive and when he woke up he saw Fiona curled up in her own bedroll on the other side of the tent, and remembered he had a mother now and spent a good five minutes beaming, little tears in his eyes.

And after breakfast, Alistair decided that now he'd managed to acquire a mother, a girlfriend and quite possibly a boyfriend if he wanted one, he'd got an important rite of passage to perform. Never mind they all knew each other already. Not in these roles, they didn't.

So it was he led Fiona over to the Herald's tent, where Madanach was sitting on his own in the tent entrance, small campfire going, plucking what looked like some sort of mountain hawk that bore the tell-tale signs of having been shot down by a lightning bolt.

Once a Forsworn, always a Forsworn, and Alistair was slowly starting to realise what that meant in practice. 

_Man's a complete barbarian. Are you sure about this?_

_Man can cook. He'd have been brilliant during the Blight. Wish we'd had him in camp then._

He might not have spent so much time pining over Lyra if Madanach had been there. But he was here now, and so Alistair decided introducing his maybe-boyfriend (possibly sort of) to his mother was a bit overdue.

Madanach had finished plucking and then decapitating the bird with his war axe, and was just spitting it as they arrived.

“Don't mind me, just saving the camp cooks some work,” Madanach said cheerfully. “Elisif will probably turn it down, but I'm reasonably sure I can persuade Maia to try some. Want some?”

“Maker, no,” Fiona said, turning a faint shade of green. “Did you just shoot that down??”

Madanach grinned and nodded.

“Yes. First rule of wilderness survival – never turn your nose up at anything with meat on it. You're lucky we're not having to forage for insects.”

Fiona had to sit down, shuddering at the mere thought. Even as a Warden, she'd never had to eat insects. Alistair rather thought he knew how she felt.

“Madanach, please stop,” Alistair told him, kneeling down next to Fiona. Madanach did at least pass them a blanket to sit on. “I don't want Mum to be sick.”

“I think I will be all right as long as insects are not on the menu,” Fiona said faintly. “Alistair, please tell me the truth, are you sure about this?”

Alistair had to think about that one, even if Madanach's pouting was distracting him.

“About Elisif, yes, very,” Alistair said firmly. “About Madanach… I don't know yet. But he's all right. When you get used to him. And if you can put up with the unconventional magic. But he's always been really kind to me, and he didn't have to be. So I think… I think I'll be spending time with him. And Elisif. Er. Where, er, where is Elisif, anyway?”

Madanach expression had softened as Alistair spoke and he indicated out at the camp.

“Well, she wanted to tell her inner council what the plan was, and Maia wanted to go with her, and after Elisif had finished her meeting, I think they started playing some sort of game called Hunt the Pixie. I'm not sure of the rules, but there seems to be a lot of squealing.”

Sure enough, Maia’s ear-splitting squeals were clearly audible, and getting louder as she scampered into view, small red-haired blur being chased by Elisif, who was growling ‘coming to get you, pixie!’

Maia squealed even more, and made the mistake of glancing over her shoulder to see where her mother was… and Elisif pounced. 

“Caught you, pixie!” Elisif laughed, diving forward and skidding through the snow to catch Maia and roll over with her in her arms. Maia’s squeals intensified… and then Elisif was sitting up, breathless and flushed little girl in her arms, Maia clinging on to her mother, and the squealing had finally stopped.

“Mama,” Maia sighed happily, cuddling her mother and Elisif cuddled her back, hair falling around both of them. 

“Baby,” Elisif whispered, hugging her little girl and kissing the top of her head. “I’ve got you, little pixie.”

“Mama,” Maia whispered again, happy smile on her face as she kissed her mother’s cheek. Elisif kissed her back and scooped her up, carrying Maia back to where Madanach, Alistair and Fiona had been watching.

Fiona in particular was looking a bit tearful, and Alistair felt a pang of regret that whatever little games he and Fiona might have developed between them had never come to pass. But he was here now, he had his mum back and he was going to make the most of it. So he put his arm round her and cuddled her and put out of his mind the fact that the taint meant he’d likely never be playing with his own kids either.

“ALISTAIR!!!” Maia’s delighted shriek reminded Alistair that there was perhaps one child who could be relied on to run up and cuddle him at a moment’s notice. “MAMA IT’S ALISTAIR, LOOK IT’S ALISTAIR!”

Elisif was forced to put Maia down as she started wriggling out of Elisif's grasp, and as soon as she was free, she ran over to Alistair and launched herself into his arms.

“Hello Alistair!” Maia cried, beaming up at him.

“Hello little one,” Alistair said, grinning. “Good to see you. We came to visit your mum and dad. I brought my mum, look.” He indicated Fiona, who smiled at Maia, still looking a little tearful. Maia looked at Fiona, saying nothing, then back at Alistair, and then back at Fiona again, and then she started giggling.

“No, that’s silly!” she giggled. “Grand Enchanter Fiona can’t be your mama, she’s an elf! Elfs don’t have human babies, they have elf babies! Mama, tell him!”

“Darling, Alistair’s daddy was human, so he looks like a human, but I’m sure Fiona wouldn't say Alistair was her son if he wasn’t,” Elisif said, from where she’d taken a seat next to Madanach, who now had a protective arm round her.

“We got kinfinding spells that can prove it if you want,” Madanach offered. “Only it involves blood magic, so it’d need to be done in private. Away from the Chantry’s prying eyes.”

“Thank you, Madanach, but I know my son,” Fiona said firmly. “He’s my Alistair all right. Exactly like his father. A good man, if weighed down by a responsibility he never wanted.”

“There you go, never put me in charge of anything and you’ll be fine,” Alistair said with a grin, one arm round his mother and the other cuddling Maia, who was perched in his lap, still looking between Fiona and Alistair.

“Are you really Alistair’s mama?” Maia said, still very uncertain.

“Yes I am, da’len,” Fiona said gently. “He’s my son and I love him very much. Like your mama loves you.”

Maia promptly turned round to see her mother, busily cuddling Madanach, and smiled at her. Elisif smiled back and gave her a little wave, and her father blew her a kiss.

Maia squeaked and blushed and turned back to Fiona.

“I love Alistair too,” Maia whispered. “There were monsters and Alistair saved me!”

“Yes, he’s good at that,” Fiona said fondly. “He saved your mother from Corypheus too, the way I hear it.”

Maia nodded, all enthusiasm for her new favourite person as she cuddled Alistair.

“And I’d do it again,” Alistair said, smiling as he cuddled Maia. “Er… Mum? You know Elisif, right? Well… er… I’m going out with her now. Apparently. If Madanach’s all right with that.”

“No argument here,” Madanach said, kissing Elisif on the cheek. “Elisif has a distressing tendency to perform acts of daring heroism and nearly get herself killed. We need someone who’ll watch her back and stop that happening.”

Elisif blushed a bit and elbowed Madanach but couldn’t really complain seeing as Alistair had had to do precisely that only the previous night.

“That’s not the only reason,” Elisif said, rather apologetically. “Your son’s a good man, Fiona. I – we – are very fond of him.”

“Are you asking me for permission to court my son?” Fiona said archly. “Elisif, he is thirty years old and I can’t take credit for how he turned out. He doesn’t need my permission to take a lover.”

“No, but I’d like your blessing,” Elisif said, getting up and moving round the fire to sit next to Alistair. “And… Madanach and I were wondering if you wanted to stay for dinner?”

“One sending to the mage cooks and I can have your food brought over here, it’s not a problem,” Madanach said from where he was paying studious attention to the spit-roasted whatever-it-was.

“I suppose I should accept then,” Fiona said, smiling. “Do you really do all your own cooking?”

“Not normally,” Madanach shrugged. “But after twenty years in prison and then about three years as an invalid, it’s nice to do things for myself again. The amount of time I’ve spent in camps of one sort or another, I couldn’t help but learn something.”

“A year of camping in the Blight and I never did learn how to cook,” Alistair admitted. “Morrigan, Zevran and Leliana did most of it.”

“Alistair, honestly,” Fiona sighed, and Madanach laughed.

“See, this is why I’m not worried about Elisif leaving me for him. Give it a week and they’ll both be back, starving and desperate for a decent meal,” Madanach teased, much to Elisif’s outrage.

“Madanach!” she cried. But even she was forced to admit her culinary skills were a bit rudimentary, particularly when Madanach pointed out that from what he’d heard, Argis had done most of the cooking when she’d been travelling round Skyrim with him.

And so the evening passed, with food and conversation and cuddling, Maia in particular managing to cuddle just about everyone present, and at length the food was finished and Fiona took her leave, archly telling Alistair not to hurry back, she wouldn’t wait up. And then to Alistair’s alarm, Madanach gathered Maia up in his arms, wrapped her in furs and announced he was going to drop by Eola’s tent and see how his other little girl was doing, and then with a knowing wink at Alistair, he was gone.

Leaving Alistair alone with a rather nervous Elisif, and he couldn’t help but realise how dry his throat suddenly was, and how dry his palms weren’t, and was it him or was it warm out here?

Elisif was still staring after Madanach, looking very pale and worried, reaching after him as he left, Maia waving over his shoulder.

“Damn you, Madanach,” Elisif whispered, before turning back to Alistair and laughing nervously.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I… I didn’t know he was going to do that. Er… you can go back to your tent if you want. You don’t have to – we don’t have to...”

Except there was a tent behind her with a perfectly serviceable bed in it, and they were both wearing easily removable clothes rather than plate armour, and this was the first moment of privacy either had had since sharing that kiss after escaping Corypheus. And until they got to this Skyhold place that everyone was whispering about, it would likely be the only one. And while Alistair was shivering all over, he had a Templar’s willpower, and he could be brave when it counted.

“I want to,” Alistair breathed. “I mean, we don’t have to… but I don’t want to go back to my tent. And kissing you was lovely and by Andra- er… by Mara, I’d like to do more of it. Um. If you’ll have me. Let me. Oh gods.”

Elisif had gone rather pink, staring at him, and Alistair wondered if he’d perhaps pushed his luck too far. But then she nodded once and made for the tent, beckoning him to follow.

Alistair swallowed and made after her. He’d been celibate since leaving Kirkwall six years ago, not feeling worthy of a proper lady friend, and not inclined to seek out anything more casual either – not that Redcliffe had offered many opportunities in his mind. (In actuality, many of the castle’s serving maids and village girls would have gone for a roll in the hay with him if he’d asked… but he’d never seemed to notice and so they’d given up trying.)

But Alistair was still human, and he was in good health and in possession of a sex drive like anyone else, and the prospect of breaking the drought with no less a person than Elisif the Hero of Haven was too much to resist. So he followed her into the tent, carefully lying down on the fur bed, tent flaps falling shut behind him.

“I can’t cast Muffle spells like Madanach can, so keep the noise down, all right?” Elisif whispered, casting a candlelight spell, and Alistair wished he could do that. It must be so weird, living in a land where magic was just omnipresent, or at least learnable – a potential for anyone who had the discipline to learn it. Not a gift or curse from the Maker.

“All right,” Alistair whispered, settling next to her and tentatively reaching out to stroke her face. “I mean… yes of course. I – I’ll do anything you like. I mean, it’s been a while for me so I don’t know how good I’ll be but I’ll do my best, I swear it. And… and I don’t have any diseases, I had a proper mage healer sort me out before leaving Kirkwall, and I’ve not had anyone since, and you don’t need to worry about getting pregnant either because the taint means I can’t have kids and...” 

He’d not been prepared for the emotions that saying that out loud would bring, because tears were starting to prickle at his eyes and his chest was tightening, and life just wasn’t fair, was it? He’d found someone finally who’d be an amazing mother to his kids, or anyone else’s, and yet the ugly truth wouldn’t change, would it. No kids of his own, ever. And that hurt more than he’d expected.

“I can’t have kids,” he said quietly, avoiding crying by shutting the emotion out entirely. “I wish I could, I love kids. I really wish I was a dad. But I can’t be. I mean, it’s my own fault, I suppose, for joining the Wardens in the first place, but you don’t think about that sort of thing when you’re nineteen, do you? You want to save the world and be a hero, and hopefully have lots of girls thinking you’re amazing. Well, some girls. Just one girl would have done, in my case. Oh, who am I trying to kid. I think I wanted a wife and kids all along. A proper family to make up for the one I never had. But it never happened. And…”

He stopped to wipe a tear away, a bit appalled to realise he’d actually got a bit weepy and then he felt vaguely horrified to realise Elisif was staring at him… and then she was hugging him, launching herself into his arms and holding him, and something in her eyes made him wonder if perhaps conceiving Maia hadn’t been as easy as he’d thought.

Alistair put his arms around her, holding her close, knowing that nothing could be done about this, that he was sterile for life with no hope of it ever changing. But he had Elisif in his arms, and her skin was warm against his, her hair soft as he buried his face in it, and arms more muscled than he was used to in women but reassuringly strong all the same, and while the pain might always lurk in the back of his mind, having her here gave him something else to think about.

So he rolled her onto her back and kissed her, and she fell back into the bedding, unresisting as she pulled him down after her, pausing only to whisper in his ear that most people didn’t go from upset to horny quite that quickly, was he really all right?

“No,” Alistair admitted, one hand pausing as he’d started to unbutton her coat. “But I really do fancy you, and if I’m having sex, I don’t have any room in my brain for being mopey and unhappy, and if I’m still moping after sex with you, just hit me or something because clearly I’m beyond help.”

Elisif ran a hand through his hair and pulled his head down for another kiss. If that was what he needed, she’d happily oblige.

After that, they were both on safer ground, the familiar routine of fumbling with another’s clothes, the thrill of disrobing in front of someone new, Elisif momentarily flinching as she recalled all the various scars and stretchmarks she’d acquired over the years… but Alistair didn’t seem to notice or care, kissing her as reverently as if she was Andraste herself, and whispering that she was absolutely gorgeous, what would she like him to do?

So she ran fingers through his hair and guided his mouth to the more sensitive bits, and whispered a few suggestions in his ear, and he grinned and took her up on them with barely a hint of reserve, and Elisif realised that perhaps this Chantry boy wasn’t anything like as shy and repressed as she’d expected. Certainly he knew what he was doing, combining a boyish eagerness to please with a grown adult’s experience, and by the time it ended, Elisif trying not to cry out as she clung onto him while he finally shuddered to a climax inside her, she was wrung out, exhausted, and quietly, blissfully at peace.

Alistair was likewise collapsed on top of her, eyes closed, breathless but the nervous anxiety that normally surrounded him gone at last. For a few moments they lay like that, and then Alistair finally moved, grimacing as he glanced down. 

“I hate this part,” he sighed. “Do you have any, er…?”

Elisif pointed him in the direction of various bits of cloth tucked to one side of the bed for precisely this purpose, and waited while he cleaned them both up, before snuggling down next to her before the cold air got to him.

“I am so going to be cast out into the Fade for all eternity,” Alistair whispered. “But it was so so worth it. You’re amazing.”

Elisif smiled and kissed the top of his head, enjoying the cuddling and enjoying even more the fact that it had been as good as she’d hoped. Enthusiastic, eager to please, paying keen attention to what she liked… much as she loved Madanach, she’d missed having someone this fresh-faced and innocent in her bed. It was a refreshing change.

“So are you,” Elisif whispered. “I’m glad you changed your mind. I liked this. I’d missed having a handsome prince in my bed.”

Alistair groaned, burying his head in her chest. 

“’m not a prince!” Alistair sighed. “Please no, I’m trying to get away from all that.”

“Handsome young man then,” Elisif told him, sympathising on the not wanting to be royal bit. She’d never sought it out either, she’d just got stuck with it and done the best she could.

“Now that, I’ll accept,” Alistair said, grinning. “I don’t suppose Madanach would count as a handsome young man. I mean, I can never quite take my eyes off him… but he’s a bit grizzled and intimidating to qualify for handsome prince status, isn’t he?” 

Elisif giggled at the thought and kissed Alistair’s forehead again and Alistair smiled up at her, stroking her cheek.

“So if not Madanach, who was the handsome prince?” Alistair asked, a little intrigued about Elisif’s sexual history, if Madanach wasn’t her first and only after all.

Elisif hesitated, recalling complex and conflicting memories, a marriage of two people barely more than children, a marriage that had been happy at the time but had left Elisif more confined than she’d realised, and a husband whose flaws and weaknesses they’d both contrived not to see until after his death.

“My first husband,” she said at length, wandering how to explain it all to Alistair who’d know none of the history or the context. “Torygg. He was the son of the High King, and we met and fell in love. He got to be King himself after his father died, and… and then he died within the year. He was murdered. In front of me.”

Alistair actually flinched, and reached out to run a hand through her hair, gently patting her on the back.

“You poor thing,” he said quietly. “That sounds horrible. No wonder you’ve developed a saving people and sacrificing yourself for your loved ones thing.”

Which was truer than even Elisif had realised until that point, but she pushed it to one side. 

“I had to be Jarl after that and was trying to be queen but I wasn’t really together enough to do much,” Elisif said softly. “It wasn’t until dragons came back and I found out I was Dragonborn that I finally got the courage to really start finding out what I could do. And it turns out I’m all right at it. Being Queen, that is. And… well… it’s not until I found out what I could do that I realised what he couldn’t. If you see what I mean.”

Alistair didn’t, not entirely. Elisif pursed her lips and tried to think how to explain it.

“He loved me in his own way,” Elisif said, recalling how things had finally fallen apart. “When I went to the afterlife to fight Alduin the King of Dragons, Torygg was there. And when I was facing Alduin, in full plate armour with the legendary Jagged Crown on my head, Dawnbreaker in one hand and the Shield of Solitude in the other, he came to save me. In the clothes he’d died in. His court robes and a steel blade in his hand! All he saw was his helpless little wife that he’d left behind, he didn’t realise I’d become Dragonborn in his absence. He didn’t realise I didn’t need him any more. And until that moment, nor had I. I ended up being the one to protect him and after I’d killed Alduin, we both ended up realising we didn’t know the other at all. It hurt, it really did. But it had to be, I guess. And I went home, went back to Windhelm where Madanach was with our combined allies, and I looked at him and realised he had no trouble seeing me as strong. He was still a wanted criminal at the time, he was relying on me to help give him what he wanted. He needed me to save him, and in return he’d given me what I really needed, not what he just thought I should have. He saw me for me, and he still does, and I will always love him for that. All the same though… part of me wishes I had a handsome hero prince to love me. I can’t really call Madanach a hero. But there’s you.”

“There’s me,” Alistair said, taking her hand in his, suddenly starting to doubt himself. “I don’t know if I’m any good at being a hero either. I screwed up during the Blight. I walked out and it was the stupidest decision of my life. I put my own stupid ego over the cause, and it wasn’t even about letting Duncan’s murderer live, not really. It was about Lyra never taking me seriously and ignoring me and choosing Zevran over me. I was young and stupid and angry and I put my own selfish feelings over saving everyone else. And I’ve been wallowing in self-pity ever since. I can’t do that again, I know that. This time, I promise I won’t let my ego get in the way. If things go wrong between us, I promise I won’t storm out of the Inquisition. If you want to reassign me to some post in the arse-end of Orlais, that’s your call, but I won’t question your decisions. I know you well enough now to know you’ll at least try to do the right thing, even when it’s hard. That’s one of the many things I love about you, you know. You’re a true hero. The world needs you in it. And I promise I’ll do everything I can to make sure you stay in it – mmph!”

Elisif had smiled and kept smiling as he’d spoken and suddenly reached out to kiss him again. It was a while before either was really in a position to speak, but at length Alistair was lying back on the pillows while Elisif snuggled in his arms.

“That’s what I love about you,” Elisif whispered, eyes closed as she rested her head on his chest. “When you say things like that, I actually believe them. When you come rushing in to save me, you can actually _help_. Because you’re brave and talented and still really humble, but there’s so much to be proud of in you… Alistair? Oh no, Alistair, don’t cry!”

“Sorry,” Alistair whispered, wiping a tear away. “But that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. Thank you. I’m… I’m glad you think I can help. I hope I can. And I’d face down Corypheus for you all over again if I had to.”

“I think I want to keep you away from him until I find out what he’s doing to the taint in your blood. If you hadn’t been Dragonborn, hadn’t known that Thu’um...” It didn’t bear thinking about. Elisif shivered just remembering Alistair’s screams. Maybe he felt the same way remembering Corypheus hurting her. Comforting, in a way. 

“And if I’d not been there, you might be dead,” Alistair said, voice soft but firm and Elisif realised it was not going to be easy to persuade him to stay behind. Madanach might do it as part of a wider plan or to protect Maia, but Alistair? Thank the gods he could actually fight, because he definitely had Torygg’s passionate bravery.

Elisif had a feeling she’d just acquired a new housecarl. One with the Thu’um and the power to stop magic on top of that, and that reminded her of the incident before they’d sealed the Breach.

“I’m glad you were able to stop his magic,” Elisif said, glancing up at him. “And fascinated that you don’t need lyrium to do the thing everyone else needs lyrium to do. Apart from Seekers. And you’re not one of those. So how did you learn to do it? You never went through their vigil, did you?”

Alistair shook his head, frowning.

“No. Just Templar training. You meditate in silence, without speaking, and you focus your will, and then you take all that focus and send it out without a sound and everyone’s magic shuts off. Key is not to say anything, if you do, it breaks the effect somehow. Dilutes it. Well, you know me, I’m always talking, all that energy wasted on opening my mouth, stands to reason if I shut up and focus I can actually do something. It’s a bit like the Thu’um, you know, that’s the same sort of focused concentration except you’ve got the words to concentrate on. And… those words mean stuff. They do something. But if there’s no words…”

“Magic stops,” Elisif breathed, realising it at the same time he did. “Solas was right, I could learn Templar abilities!”

“If you started the meditation, yes, maybe,” Alistair said, looking absolutely fascinated as he propped himself up on one elbow. “At the moment you’re a little unfocused sometimes. How did you learn to Shout?”

“I’d learn the words first, but I couldn’t Shout until either someone had taught me the meaning of a particular Thu’um or I took the knowledge from a slain dragon – Akatosh, Alistair, are you telling me there’s an underlying trick that can teach a Dragonborn how to use any Shout once they know the words for it? Or… or invent new ones if they know enough Dovahzul??”

Elisif recalled fighting Miraak, recalled him taunting her, telling her he knew things the Greybeards would never teach her. He’d worked this out, she was sure. He’d likely invented his own Shouts. And it seemed Alistair had been privy to the same knowledge all along, without knowing it. He’d been an unknowing Dragonborn, learning how to Shout without Shouting and picking up a Templar’s abilities along the way.

“It’s not quite that simple,” Alistair pointed out. “There’s a learning curve, practice, I can’t do it instantly. I think I need to interpret the meaning or at least internalise it. Unrelenting Force came easily, but it came because you were in danger and I had to protect you. The Ethereal one I had real trouble with because I didn’t want to fade away… up until someone started using blood magic on me and suddenly I saw the value of being bloodless.”

“All the same, I think I want to learn how to do it,” Elisif said, forcing her attention away from visions of Alistair screaming again. “Will you teach me? Please?”

Alistair smiled and nodded.

“Yes. All right. I will teach you. But you have to promise me something. In these lessons, you need to do what you’re told. You can’t pull rank on me during them or you won’t learn anything. You’re definitely going to be very angry with me by the end of it, and if you want to take it out on me later, you’re welcome to. But during training, you need to knuckle down and accept authority.”

Elisif couldn’t imagine why he thought she’d have a problem with being told what to do. She’d tell Madanach this later and be rather offended when he started laughing and asking did she really not know. But she wanted to learn this Thu’um With No Thu’um that could stop magic, this Silent Thu’um that could serve as the key to mastering all others.

So she promised, and he told her he’d hold her to that, to which she responded by playfully swatting him, which led to a playfight, which led to Elisif winning by the underhanded tactic of surprise kissing and pushing Alistair onto his back, which led to more lovemaking, which led to them both lying in each other’s arms, utterly exhausted but completely content. Which was how Madanach found them when he returned with a sleepy Maia in his arms, rolling his eyes and proceeding to tuck Maia in alongside her mother and then joining them himself, whispering to Maia that clearly they’d got cold and very tired which was why they’d gone to sleep, and Maia sleepily whispered back that she didn’t mind having Alistair there too.

And outside the tent, a boy called Cole smiled and slipped away, his work done. _Lonely, loveless, listless, drunken, dying, lost his purpose and lost without it… but he found one again. Found his family, falling, flying, and landing safely in her arms and in his. He’s going to be all right._

It had taken a little work, a little interference, as he’d helped Elisif defend the trebuchet out of sight, then seen Alistair arrive, see Elisif and stare hungrily at her, wanting what he couldn't have. Alistair hadn’t even seemed to notice as Cole had whispered in his ear, whispering he could have her if she wanted, he wouldn’t be lonely any more, she’d take care of him, perhaps she needed him too.

It had been that last whisper that had seemed to work, the thought that this wasn’t a personal indulgence but perhaps providing something for her that had make him start rethinking. And then he’d not only gone with her to help save the Inquisition, he’d gone back again to rescue her from Corypheus, with no prompting from Cole this time. All Alistair had needed was the chance to be a hero and prove himself. And now he’d done that and the queen finally had her handsome prince.

It was all in a night’s work for Cole. Realising what people needed, whispering in their ear, changing thoughts, changing minds. Helping people see things a different way. Helping make them better. It was what he did, his reason for existing.

Elisif and Alistair were going to be fine. But there were plenty of others hurting tonight. So Cole slipped off into the shadows. It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, there was a lot going on in that one... But it does mean I don't need to bring in the trainers for Elisif, because Alistair can just train her in the Templar skills. She's already got the power of dragon blood, and has that whole Hero of the People and Saviour of Skyrim thing going on too, so she's kind of already got the other two paths.
> 
> Liriel's backstory isn't directly relevant to this but I played the game and decided I wanted that questline in here and who did I have who was fighting age during the war but might have reasons for not wanting anyone to know they did all that... oh right, an Aldmeri conscript who doesn't want anyone knowing she caused the Dominion to lose the war. :D
> 
> Erinmer is based on the Aldmeri for Southern Elves.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition needs to organise in the wake of their escape from Haven, and one of the items on the agenda is something so obvious even a five year old can see it. The rest of it however will take rather more thought, and between her advisors and Deputy Inquisitor clashing, a high stakes party to prepare for and a mysterious friend of Varric's involved, Elisif has her work cut out for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still here? Good to see you all! This one is the arrival at Skyhold - bit talky but it'll mean less time in Inquisition briefings further down the line with any luck.

The journey to Skyhold took three weeks, near enough. Three weeks of trekking through the snow and ice… but Elisif’s Thu’um kept the storms away from them, and the Inquisition was possessed of sufficient scouts and hunters to find the way and keep everyone fed and warm. And the name of their new home was on everyone’s lips, a little mantra that meant many things, but chief among them security, safety, stability. Home. Skyhold.

And when Elisif climbed a ridge with Solas at her back, and they got their first glimpse of it, the mere sight of it took her breath away.

“There it is,” Elisif whispered. A castle that reminded her of Castle Dour, a proper Nordic keep, a bridge leading over a chasm to a gatehouse, vaguely reminiscent of both Windhelm and the Solitude Arch, and Elisif could not take her eyes off it.

Skyhold lay before her and it was beautiful. 

“There it is,” Solas confirmed, looking proudly at the castle, which looked surprisingly intact considering it had apparently been abandoned for years. “Will it do?”

“It will do,” Elisif said softly, before turning to where the rest of the Inquisition vanguard were coming up behind her, Cassandra and Cullen among them, Madanach not far behind, and way back was Alistair leading a pack druffalo by the reins while Maia and friends rode on its back.

“Inquisition, we found it!” Elisif shouted. “Behold Skyhold!”

Gasps of relief and amazement all round as everyone surged forward, looked at the castle and realised they’d made it, word spreading round as they realised they’d found their home at last. And so the Inquisition moved on and filed into the castle, preparing to settle in.

Up close, it wasn’t as intact as they’d thought, and the Great Hall was covered in debris with holes in the roof. Which was not ideal, especially when Maia kept climbing on fallen masonry, insisting it wasn’t dangerous, she wouldn’t hurt herself and that she definitely didn’t need to get down, Daddy… and then promptly started crying because she’d got a splinter.

“All right, Cullen, I need your men in here clearing this hall out, it isn’t safe,” Elisif said firmly, as Madanach went to pick up Maia, wearily scolding her as he put her down on the stone floor and began seeing to her hand. To Elisif’s surprise, Cullen actually smiled before saluting her with a fist to the chest and cheerfully agreeing. Which was weird – not the agreeing, but that little smirk. Elisif pursed her lips and turned to where Madanach was kneeling next to Maia, removing the splinters from her hand with telekinesis then healing the wounds up.

“Madanach, why was Cullen grinning,” Elisif said, frowning. “All I did was order him to get this place cleared out before anyone else injures themselves on it. It wasn’t something to smile at – now you’re doing it!”

Madanach was smiling, picking Maia up and getting to his feet, looking terribly amused at something.

“I imagine that he’s just amused at you giving orders when you’re not actually leader of the Inquisition or anything,” Madanach said. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s clearly following your orders… but you’re not actually officially entitled to give them.”

“Yes she is, she’s High Queen,” Maia said, little frown on her face, splinter forgotten. “Everyone needs to do what Mama tells them.”

“I’m not High Queen here, little one,” Elisif told her, remembering a similar conversation when Maia had first come to Haven and been surprised at her mother not having a keep of her own. “We’re not in Skyrim any more, love.”

Sadness in Maia’s eyes and then a rather stern pout.

“Well, you should be Queen,” Maia said firmly. “Someone has to be! You’d be good at it. This can be your castle and the Inquisition can be your army and guards. Tell her, Daddy!”

Madanach looked actually pained on hearing this, and he sighed and shook his head.

“Maia, you can’t just take over a foreign country when they’ve not asked you to. Your ma’s a Nord so she looks after Skyrim, and I’m a Reachman so we look after the Reach. We none of us are from Thedas, cariad. We can’t just take over.”

Maia looked extremely unconvinced.

“They’re not looking after themselves very well,” Maia said firmly. “They need Mama to do it.”

Which was a difficult point to argue, but Elisif was distracted by the arrival of Cassandra, and behind her, Leliana and Alistair, engaged in a lively conversation.

“So you don’t mind then?” Leliana was saying, amused grin on her face. “This arrangement meets with your approval?”

“Mind??” Alistair said, surprised. “Why on earth would I mind?? Someone needs to do it, and I can’t think of anyone more deserving, in fact I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Really, Leli, what were you thinking?”

“Alistair, we were a new organisation, just finding our feet, and we none of us knew anything about her. We couldn’t hand it all to her on a plate just like that!” Leliana protested.

“But you know her now,” Alistair noted. “Changed your mind?”

Leliana just smiled and inclined her head. 

“She saved us all, Alistair. Saved us from Corypheus, led us through the mountains, brought us here. We need her, and we need to give her full rein to do her job,” Leliana said, growing sombre. “If we had done this earlier, we might not even have been attacked. We might already have been somewhere safer. You know she was worried we might come under threat.”

“I know,” Alistair said, and Elisif now had to wonder what was going on because they were definitely talking about her. So she approached Cassandra, who was standing there watching her, looking slightly awkward.

“Cassandra, what’s this about,” Elisif asked. “What’s Leliana talking about?”

“Something that is long overdue, Herald,” Cassandra said, unusually formally for her. “We’d like to formally recognise your contribution to and role in the Inquisition. Would you come with us please? Bring Madanach too, and I believe little Maia might like to see this.”

Elisif exchanged glances with Madanach, starting to wonder what this was about. Madanach took Maia by the hand and followed her out, answering her whisper of ‘what’s happening, Daddy?’ with an answering reply of ‘I think they’re giving her a reward?’

Elisif wasn’t anything like as sure, especially as Alistair was grinning at her but refusing to say anything other than ‘you’ll see!’… and then they got outside and Elisif felt her throat close up as she saw the courtyard packed full of Inquisition people. Near the front were Josephine, Cullen, Fiona and Mother Giselle, all smiling up at her.

“What is this,” Elisif gasped, not having expected all this. Were they expecting a speech? She hoped not, she didn’t have anything written.

“A long overdue recognition,” Cassandra said, letting her voice carry. “We all saw what happened at Haven. We all saw that creature Corypheus and we all saw you stand against him… and return.”

“Cassandra, he came for the Anchor, and I survived because Alistair and Cicero helped,” Elisif told her. She might have been able to fight Corypheus on her own, of course… but she wasn’t sure she’d have made it back without them.

“Perhaps,” Cassandra said with a shrug. “But they went back to help at considerable risk because they consider you worth preserving. As do we all. And you are that creature’s rival not just because of the mark but because of what you have done. Because when it has been necessary, when the Inquisition has been divided and come close to warring with itself, you have made the decisions and got us this far. You gave us a rallying point after the Divine died. You stopped Corypheus enslaving the mage rebellion and you sealed the Breach. You have led us here and everyone in this keep may owe you their very life. Everyone we have spoken to agrees. The Inquisition needs a leader, an Inquisitor… and who better than the one who has already been leading it.”

Elisif turned to look at Madanach, to check that she hadn’t misheard this, and from his expression, she guessed he’d not been among those Cassandra had spoken to. Alistair on the other hand didn’t look surprised at all, and Elisif realised this must be what Leliana had been asking him about.

“You asked Alistair?” Elisif gasped. Leliana turned round from where one of her spies had just handed her a bronze greatsword with a hilt adorned with a dragon.

“Of course I did, I value his opinion dearly,” Leliana said, smiling. “Well, Herald? Did you want to officially become the leader of the Inquisition? You’ve already been doing the job, and you’re the only one we could all agree on.”

Elisif shot a pointed glare at Alistair, who really needed to stop grinning, and then a slightly more panicked one at Madanach, because this would put her in the spotlight, this would give her an official Thedosian title and real power… and Tamriel a foot in the door, which was such a Madanachian thought she was appalled she’d even let it cross her mind. But cross her mind it had, and now it wouldn't go away.

She met Madanach’s eyes, unspoken question in her eyes, and down their empathy bond came the answer – pride, amazement, happiness… pleasure. Madanach grinned and nodded, and that meant he was likely plotting the political ramifications too.

_I have to do this, don’t I. A whole new continent, and it could be a threat or an opportunity. We can’t go home yet, not with Corypheus out there… but we can use this to start paving a way for the Empire to find a foothold._

“All right,” Elisif said, holding out her hands as Leliana brought the sword over and placed it in her arms. “I accept.”

The sword turned out to be a hollow ceremonial one that would probably break if she actually tried to use it in a fight, but it did mean she could take it in one hand and raise it high in salutation in one move, making it look really impressive and making her look stronger than she actually was. It got a cheer anyway.

“Give them a speech!”

That was Alistair, and someone really was in for it later. But she had her public to think of first. Her people.

“Inquisition!” Elisif cried. “Corypheus wants this Mark and he’s prepared to destroy all Thedas to get it! He won’t stop coming… but he couldn't kill me in Haven, and that was when we were unprepared and undersupplied. He caught us at our weakest and we escaped him. Now we know he’s out there, and we can build our strength for the next fight! When we face him next, we will fight him as one, and in unity we will bring a strength to make the gods themselves nervous! We will bring him down, Inquisition, and we will bring justice for all the lives he’s destroyed, from Divine Justinia down to the lowliest worker in Haven, and even for the Red Templars, corrupted soul-deep by the red lyrium poison. Join me, Inquisition, and we will have our victory or die trying!”

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter,” Elisif heard Leliana intone quietly, and she probably wasn’t the only one thinking of that verse judging from the adoring looks among the crowd. And then Cassandra spoke again.

“Have the people been told?” Cassandra called to Josephine.

“Yes!” the Inquisition Ambassador called back, delighted, and Elisif had the sinking sensation Josephine wasn’t just referring to Skyhold. The signed and sealed proclamation had probably already been sent out to half of Thedas.

“And will they follow?” Cassandra asked Cullen, who responded by turning around to face the massed Inquisition troops behind him.

“INQUISITION! WILL YOU FOLLOW!” he bellowed to them. And as one, the Inquisition roared back its approval.

“All Hail the Herald! All Hail Inquisitor Elisif! All Hail the Stormbreaker!” 

“Inquisition! Your Inquisitor!” Cassandra shouted, and Elisif closed her eyes and let the attention wash over her. The Inquisition was hers, to remake Thedas with as she pleased. In a manner of speaking, of course. But she wasn’t just a member of the Inner Circle, to sit in on meetings and argue her case and hope they’d listen, not any more. Now they’d make their cases to her and she’d decide. No more having to fight Cassandra or Cullen on people like her husband and daughter still being humans with rights. No more pleading with them to believe her warnings and evacuate before it was too late. She could give the orders now. She could save lives.

_Or cost them._ But wasn’t that the price of every decision? Very little never cost anyone anything. But she could try and if she failed, let it fall on her.

Slowly, Elisif lowered the sword, cheering turning into celebration as people slipped back to work, and Elisif turned to where Madanach and Maia were waiting for her.

“They made me Inquisitor,” Elisif said, shaking as the adrenaline slowly started to subside. “I think that means I’m in charge now.”

“You mean you weren’t already?” Madanach said, grinning, and Maia was looking up at her, looking very pleased with herself.

“See, I said they should put you in charge,” Maia said proudly. “Now you’ve got a castle and an army and you can stop all the monsters and make everything all right!”

“That’s the plan!” Elisif laughed, trying not to think about the uphill task of saving Thedas from itself and trying to prepare it for Tamriel being out there and being real, not just a story whispered by elves and apostate mages.

“I take it someone approves?” Leliana said cheerfully, taking Elisif’s ceremonial sword off her and handing it off to a passing Inquisition soldier.

“Maia’s been saying since she got to Haven that I should have a big castle to rule all Thedas from,” Elisif admitted. “I guess this is the nearest we’re going to get.”

“You would only get more influence if you were made Divine, and that would be no small matter,” Josephine said, having made her way up from the courtyard, Cullen behind her. “For a start, you would have to be formally baptised into the Orlesian Chantry, then forswear your marriage as a Divine cannot be weighed down by worldly concerns...”

“Absolutely not,” Madanach said firmly. “The Chantry can go...” He recalled Maia was watching him and hastily moderated his language. “The Chantry can take a hike, Elisif has enough to do. And speaking of Elisif’s time and attention, I want it made very clear that her time is sacrosanct and if her time’s wasted on trivia that someone else could handle, I will be dealing with the offenders personally if necessary.”

Oh gods, that was all she needed, Madanach throwing his weight around. Some people were content to be quiet supportive consorts. And other people led Forsworn Rebellions, joined mage rebellions, dragged their five year old across half a planet because they were convinced no one else could protect her better, and never voiced an opinion quietly when they could shout it across the room.

“Cassandra, does the position of Inquisitor’s spouse carry any titles and responsibilities?” Elisif asked, hoping there was something she could distract him with before he took off on his own and started building a mabari army or organising the elves of Orlais into a rebellion, or taking Maia with him to negotiate with Thedosian dragons or something.

“I… don’t believe so,” Cassandra said, frowning. “It is a faith-based position and traditionally, ordained Chantry priests have not married… but there has not been an Inquisitor in nine hundred years. The post has been created now out of need, because our existing institutions have failed us. We must move forward, not back. There was never traditionally a title for the Inquisitor’s spouse, or even an expectation they would have one. But you do, and you know him and his skills better than anyone. So… whatever role you bestow on him, we will accept.”

Leliana, Josephine and Cullen were all nodding in agreement, and Alistair had sidled up to stand beside Madanach, arm draped nonchalantly round his shoulders, much to Madanach’s evident surprise… but he looked pleased to see him. Madanach and Alistair hadn’t been intimate, not as far as Elisif knew… but Alistair kept doing things like this, making excuses to be near Madanach, hovering at his elbow, not quite brave enough to do anything more. Elisif was rather pleased to see he’d finally worked up the courage to move on to public cuddling. Madanach was even now grinning and leaning in to Alistair, patting the hand resting on his shoulder before putting his arms round Alistair’s waist.

Her husband was happy, and so was her boyfriend, and Elisif quietly gave thanks to Mara for them both. And maybe Madanach had issues, but there was no denying he was bright and talented and used to leading and deserved some recognition of that fact. And hadn’t he got her Inquisition to safety before when she had had to leave them?

“I’m going to need a second-in-command,” she said, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice, and not really succeeding. “Someone with leadership experience, and military skills, who knows how to run a keep and a kingdom. Someone I can trust, who doesn’t have any previous ties here in Thedas to prejudice him. Someone who’ll tell me if I’m being an idiot and who might have ideas of his own. Someone who can look after everyone when I’m not here and deal with things at the war table for me. Someone who did it before when I went to face Corypheus. Madanach, I need a deputy. I can’t imagine anyone there but you. Will you? Please?”

Madanach had gazed at her throughout, eyebrows lifted in surprise but his eyes had softened as she spoke, and as the last word left her lips, he let Alistair go, stepped forward and took her face in his hands and kissed her.

“Yes,” he murmured as he let her go. “Yes, I will. I’d do anything you ask, you know that.”

But would her advisors say the same, she wondered. She looked up to see their reactions… and was surprised to see Leliana smiling, Josephine merely noting something on her clipboard and saying ‘very good, Inquisitor’… and even Cullen had just sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“As long as he doesn’t start ordering my men to commit atrocities or harm civilians,” Cullen said, which was a fair point really.

“You’re allowed to engage our troops in defensive or peacekeeping operations only, any actual assaults need to be ordered by me,” Elisif told Madanach. “Also you’re not allowed to execute anyone without my express authority and we don’t use torture or the Rite of Tranquillity.”

“Perish the thought,” Madanach murmured, kissing her cheek, which was a battle a little too easily won, she’d expected a fight. All the same, she had a feeling Madanach would find a loophole if he had to.

“And what about you, Cassandra, are you OK with this?”

Cassandra just shrugged. 

“It is not my place to argue, Elisif. You are Inquisitor now. It is your decision. I hope for all our sakes your trust is not misplaced… but he did lead us well in the aftermath of Haven. So I will follow his lead for as long as he proves worthy.”

“What, really?” Elisif said, now really confused, because while Madanach might be cheerfully giving in to avoid a fight and be fully intent on looking for a loophole later, Cassandra just wasn’t political enough to pretend to be what she was not.

“Yes, really,” Cassandra said, amused. “Elisif, I was never suited for leadership or politics. I see what must be done and I do it… regardless of whose toes that steps on and of whatever consequences may befall us. Sometimes that is what is needed. But sometimes a subtler approach is required. Maybe political subtlety isn’t always your strength either… but what you are very very skilled at, sometimes without knowing you’re doing it, is gathering people to your side with a variety of skills and talents and knowing when to use them. Your ability to charm people is something I’ve always admired, probably because I’ve always lacked the patience to manage it myself.”

Elisif couldn’t rightly disagree with that, but decided not to be too obvious in agreeing.

“Well, you can still have a place on the Council if you like,” Elisif began, and was surprised (but in all honesty, not that surprised) to see Cassandra visibly shudder.

“Absolutely not, I detest meetings,” Cassandra said, grimacing. “I am happy to leave the decisions to others. I will offer advice if required, but if you do not...”

“You would be happier kicking in a training dummy, I know,” Elisif said, unable to not smile at that. “Go on, you’re dismissed. I’ll see you later.”

Cassandra took her leave, and that left Elisif with her three advisors, her new Deputy, her Dragonborn boyfriend who was patting her husband on the back and cuddling him… and one little five year old who’d been trying to get her father’s attention, and having seen her mother now available, promptly turned to her instead.

“Mama, is Alistair getting a title too?”

“Um,” Elisif began, because she’d not even thought about Alistair getting something. He’d never expressed any interest whatsoever in any position of authority, and from the horrified expression on his face, that was fortunately still the case.

“Oh no,” Alistair breathed. “No no no. No titles! No positions of responsibility! No _leading!_ Seriously Elisif, I’m quite happy as Inquisitorial Plaything, and occasional Smiter of your Enemies, you don’t need to give me a job on top of that.”

Josephine had gone pink, literally all the other adults had had to hastily smother giggling, Madanach was barely even bothering to smother his, and Maia was looking very confused. 

“Mama, what’s an Inquisiturry-ul plaything?” Maia asked, and Elisif slowly raised furious eyes to Alistair, who’d suddenly become very nervous and moved to hide behind Madanach.

“Means when your mother’s feeling bored and wants someone to play with, she goes and finds Alistair,” Madanach explained, still smirking. “Speaking of which, Josephine, make sure Alistair gets his own room. Near wherever Elisif and I end up. Give him a double bed too. Make it nice and comfy.”

“Very good, my lord,” Josephine was saying, making more notes, and Elisif would have intervened were Maia not still objecting.

“But Mama can play with me!” Maia was saying, pouting at her father, and that at least wiped the smile off his face.

“Not like that, little one,” he told her. “Grown-up playing.”

“Oh.” Maia looked a little disappointed, and any second now, Maia was going to be asking what that involved. Time to call the meeting to order.

“Right, Warden Alistair, I need to consult with my council, which you, by your own request, are not part of,” Elisif said firmly. “Why don’t you take Maia with you and explore Skyhold. I think she wants to look round properly but parts of it just aren’t safe yet. She needs an adult with her.”

Which, given that Maia had been pleading for days to be allowed to explore and sulked profoundly on being told no, it was too dangerous, was guaranteed to distract her. Maia squealed and started jumping around Alistair, who was too relieved to have Inquisitorial attention off him to complain. And if he was honest, he secretly rather enjoyed childcare.

So Alistair led Maia off with a solemn promise to her to show her all the most dangerous parts of the castle, and as Maia’s excited squealing faded, that left five leading members of the Inquisition all wondering what to do next.

“So now what,” Elisif said quietly, sitting on the empty dais at the top of the room that really needed a throne – probably had had one once, but wood didn’t stand the test of time. Elisif really envied Madanach the stone eternities of Understone Keep sometimes. Not that that Keep was much use to him at the moment. “We need to bring down Corypheus, and his army of corrupted Red Templars, and his Venatori cultists. We’re not entirely sure what he wants or where he is, so I hope some of you have something for me… yes, Madanach?”

Madanach was starting to pace, looking very thoughtful.

“Not entirely true. We know he wanted your Anchor. Which would appear to be a key that unlocks the Veil somehow… and reseals rifts.”

“He said he got into the Fade before, and found only chaos and corruption, and now he’s trying to get back there,” Elisif said, wondering how on earth that worked as a plan. “I don’t know what he thinks he’ll find a second time. I think he thinks it’ll elevate him to godhood – Madanach, how would that even work?”

Madanach glanced up, a little unnerved to find Elisif looking at him as if she genuinely thought he’d know the answer to that one, and three advisors looking at him with various degrees of concern.

“Don’t look at me!” Madanach protested. “It’s not that simple! You don’t just crack open a realm of Oblivion, march an army in and overthrow the reigning Daedric Prince and take over! I’d have done Coldharbour years ago if it were that simple!”

No one looked reassured by this.

“You can _do_ that?” Josephine whispered, looking a little bit pale.

“He just said he couldn't,” Elisif said wearily, before Cullen in particular started rethinking his allegiances. “Go on, Madanach. If someone wanted to get into Oblivion or Aetherius, how would they do it.”

“Ugh, this is Keirine’s field, I don’t know the details, so don’t ask me to replicate any of this,” Madanach sighed, frustrated as he massaged his forehead.

“No danger of that,” Cullen snorted, clearly considering going back on the lyrium just to keep Madanach in line. Madanach glared at him and Elisif already regretted starting this… but she did need answers. 

“Madanach,” Elisif said firmly, recalling her husband back to the question at hand. “How might Corypheus go about getting into the Fade if he can’t use the Anchor? What are his other options?”

“I don’t… Elisif, the Fade’s not a monolithic entity!” Madanach sighed. “Generally speaking, back home, the Gates of Oblivion are sealed and hard to break into. The Daedra themselves can’t get through, they need a mage on this side to summon something, and standard summoning rituals only bring one, maybe two, entities through at once. Or possibly lots of little ones. The lore’s unclear, and I have recurring nightmares of having to listen to Keirine explain it. But as far as portals go, to go anywhere interesting in Oblivion generally requires help from the other side. You need to either make a bargain with a Daedric Prince or suborn a minion of theirs and get a sigil stone for their realm. Which your mark kind of reminds me of, actually. The sigils on a sigil stone, except we don’t tend to engrave them on people’s _skin_. Because… because they’re powerful and dangerous and stone’s the only thing to withstand it and...” Madanach trailed off, staring at her mark, real concern and worry and anguish in his voice, and Elisif clenched her fist and drew it to her stomach, not wanting to see or think about it, or the fear radiating out of her husband, because it was just wrong for the Scourge of the Nords to be that terrified.

“Never mind that,” Elisif growled. “Get on with it. Means of getting into the Fade. Corypheus said he was returning under no will but his own, so he’s not working for a demon, not for this anyway. If you don’t have a sigil stone, how do you do it.”

Madanach breathed and recovered himself, with an effort.

“Depends where you’re going,” Madanach finally said. “You want to break into the realm of a Daedra Lord, expect a fight. You want to get into one of the less interesting bits of Oblivion that no Daedra’s claimed, you can do it likely unnoticed. Trapped souls or a blood sacrifice would do it. The bigger you want the hole, the bigger the soul or sacrifice. It’s common soul gems that power the Reach’s portals, by the way, we haven’t needed to sacrifice any people. Not unless you want to send an entire legion down one. Then I hope you’ve got some condemned criminals on hand.”

Appalled gasp from Josephine, and Cullen was running hands through his hair in disbelief.

“Does anyone else think it’s a problem that he can just come up with ways of breaking the Veil involving blood sacrifice and some way of _trapping people’s souls_ without even thinking too hard??” Cullen demanded. 

“Oh for… she asked!” Madanach cried. “I’m not going to actually do it! You could probably come up with about five different scenarios for sacking Empress Celene’s palace if Elisif asked you to, doesn’t mean the Inquisition’s going to do it!”

“It’s not the same, Orlesians are human!” Cullen snapped. “Or… or people at least. They’re not demons out to possess your body and claim your soul!”

At that, Leliana actually smirked. 

“I have played the Game, Commander. Some of them would do exactly that if they could. As it is, they will just abuse their servants’ bodies and claim people’s lives and property instead. The Inquisition will do what it has to, Commander. If we have someone on our side who can anticipate Corypheus’s methods, that can only help.”

“If we must think in terms of deals with demons, there are Antivan merchants who will attempt to ensnare you in contracts so convoluted, you might as well have bartered your soul to them,” Josephine said quietly. “It is not so simple a matter as good and pure humans that can be trusted, and evil denizens of the Fade that never can be. It is always more complicated than that. For myself, as long as the Inquisition remains better than those it opposes, I will trust in my Inquisitor’s decisions.”

Leliana nodded in agreement, and Cullen sighed and gave in. 

“I must admit, you can’t really trust Orlesians either,” Cullen admitted. “All right, Inquisitor. As long as no one’s suggesting we’re going down the blood sacrifice and demons route.”

“No,” Elisif promised, beckoning Madanach to her side and putting a protective – and potentially restraining – arm round him. He came willingly, snuggling into her, which meant this fight was headed off at least. “But our enemies might be. In that dark future, there was a demon army that invaded Orlais, and Empress Celene was assassinated. And a Blight rose with no Wardens to stop it, which means their disappearance is linked to this. Even if they’d all gone off willingly on some unrelated Warden business, they’d have returned if word of a Blight reached them – and I can’t believe they’d be so irresponsible as to make the bulk of their forces completely unreachable. That means either Corypheus has wiped them out… or he may have corrupted them too. We know he can control the taint in their blood. Alistair would be dead if he didn’t have the Thu’um.”

She still had nightmares about that. She’d still wake, reach for the man next to her, and if it wasn’t Alistair, she’d inevitably have to get up, dress and track down Alistair’s tent to make sure he was all right. 

Leliana shuddered, and not one of her advisors was disagreeing. They all saw the threat at least. It was something.

“So how do we stop it,” Elisif said, staring at them all in turn. “I need answers or people die. If you don’t have them, find them. Madanach. Demon army. How do we – look, Cullen, I’m not planning to raise one of my own!”

“Nor am I,” Madanach said firmly. “Anyway, I don’t need to, a lot of my ReachGuard can summon Atronachs. Numbers doubled, extra fireballs. Or ice. Or lightning. The odd summoned Dremora if someone really knows what they’re doing. Elisif, can you please tell your commander to _stop_ looking at me like I’m some sort of monster.”

“He’s just confessed to having his own demon army back home, and you think he’s _trustworthy?_ ” Cullen snapped. Elisif made a mental note to ask Madanach these things away from her advisors in future, because Cullen’s appalled glares, Josephine’s nervous glances and the way Leliana was looking simply _fascinated_ wasn’t a combination to appeal to anyone.

“Cullen,” Elisif snapped. “ _Enough._ We are not fighting the Reach, we’re fighting Corypheus. Who has an army full of presumably bound demons, because a force of them serving willingly doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“They’d have to be bound, he’s not a demon himself, he won’t have a following in the Fade, can’t have,” Madanach said, pointedly not looking at Cullen. “Now back home, the spells we use all draw power from Aetherius to reach into Oblivion and temporarily pull something through for you, but none of the techniques I’ve seen here allow this, it’s all binding rituals and frequently blood sacrifices. Of course, that works back home as well, but we wouldn't use it once we’ve learnt the spell. They don’t have tomes here, or scrolls, because Circle mages would never be allowed to make it that easy to learn magic, and Tevinter magisters don’t want it easy to learn in case people use it to challenge them.”

Elisif idly wondered what would happen if she flooded the Tevinter black market with Tamrielic spell tomes and spell scrolls and a few staves for good measure, before deciding the answer was nothing good and leaving it at that. 

“So it’s blood sacrifice then, and for that you need a lot of blood and a lot of mages – the Venatori?” Elisif asked.

“They’re probably behind it, but you’ll have a job tracking them,” Cullen sighed. “If they’re using their slaves, we likely won’t know until it’s too late.”

“Slaves cost money, and if certain magisters are suddenly having to replace their slaves en masse, the transactions might be traceable,” Leliana said, clearly working out ways of disrupting their supply. “Josephine, you’ve got contacts in Tevinter, haven’t you?”

“If I start asking questions like that, they will likely alert the Venatori,” Josephine said, chewing her lip as she fidgeted with her quill pen. “But we know they will attack Orlais while she is at her weakest. We know Celene’s assassination is what will trigger the invasion. We must focus on saving her life and helping Orlais see reason. If we can get both parties in the civil war to unite and focus on defending Orlais from Corypheus, we might be able to withstand the invasion.”

“If!” Cullen snorted. “Mabari will fly before any Orlesian can be persuaded to put the greater good above their own personal greed.”

Leliana gasped in outrage at the taunt against her homeland.

“Turn up your nose at the Grand Game if you will, Commander, but Orlesians play for the highest stakes… and to the death!”

“It will be death if they keep fighting amongst themselves in the face of disaster,” Madanach growled. “Elisif, you managed to sort out a petty noble squabble in the name of saving the world, you’ve got this, right?”

“What do you… Madanach!” Elisif snapped, switching to Tamrielic. “What do you mean, I got this, I nearly had to sacrifice myself in mortal combat, you and Delphine organised the takeover of Windhelm! What are we supposed to do here, lay siege to Val Royeaux?? Find an Orlesian Madanach who could be persuaded to align with one of the combatants and give that one an edge in the war so they can take over and unite Orlais?”

Madanach just smiled, looking far, far too confident.

“There is almost certainly someone out there who is not a party to the war, but who could hold the balance of power and might stand to benefit if we reached out to them,” Madanach murmured. “I bet Leliana can track them down. We just need to get them all round a table, and a meeting in advance with our Orlesian King or Queen in Rags.”

“It will not be that simple,” Elisif muttered at him, but damned if she could think of a better idea. So she turned back to her bemused advisors.

“So, saving Orlais from itself,” she sighed. “How on earth do we get all parties round a table for peace talks and who are they anyway? I’ve heard of Celene but very little of her challenger.”

Cullen's eyes were already glazing over, but Josephine’s face practically lit up.

“Inquisitor, you are in luck. I have heard that Empress Celene herself has been able to persuade her rival, Duke Gaspard, to come to peace talks with her at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. As is Orlesian custom, all occasions of solemnity and seriousness are marked with revels and dancing, and so she is throwing a Grand Masquerade Ball in honour of the talks. Every noble in Orlais will be there. I can get us an invitation although it will take a little work – but do not worry. The ball is not for some weeks yet – they are still haggling over the details. But if we can attend, we can have a chance to warn Celene she’s in danger, and maybe influence the talks.”

“Also if an assassin is going to strike, the ball is the most likely place,” Leliana added. “Everyone of note in Orlais will be there. The entire court will witness it. Celene’s talks, her moment to shine – if you wish for her death to send a message and cause the maximum chaos, this ball will be perfect. We attend, we can stop the assassin before he strikes.”

Elisif glanced at Madanach, who wasn’t disagreeing but didn’t exactly look happy either.

“It’s sound tactical sense and exactly what I’d do,” Madanach admitted, in Tamrielic so as not to unnerve Cullen. “I just wish we didn’t have to go. I hate ballrooms and parties with a passion. Especially this sort of thing.”

“Oh hush, we went to diplomatic receptions in Cyrodiil that first summer I was Queen all the time, you did fine,” Elisif whispered. “They liked you!”

“They were amazed we turned up in stylish silks and chiffons and not furs dripping in the blood of our enemies and didn’t drink from the finger bowls or tear at the meat with our teeth, that was what they liked. They were just relieved we weren’t the barely civilised barbarians they’d heard about. Orlais will be expecting the Herald of Andraste and her Inquisition, they expect us to be fit for polite society,” Madanach sighed. “We’ll have to actually work at impressing them.”

A depressing thought. But Elisif had done harder things than this, right? Right??

_Cicero. We’re bringing Cicero. He loves this sort of thing. We took him to Cyrodiil as an advisor and he nearly cried from excitement at being in the thick of political intrigue and ended up looting half the court’s valuables, several interesting pieces of blackmail material, lots and lots of scandalous gossip, and murdered one noble who was abusing his stepdaughter._

They’d been able to get most of the valuables returned, but Delphine had smiled at the gossip, made immediate use of at least some of the blackmail material, praised Cicero’s efficiency, and Cicero had spent the next few months preening. And Madanach had not helped, in fact he’d grinned, patted Cicero on the back and told him he was bringing him again next year.

Next year, Elisif had had a small child, Miraak to deal with and no time to disappear to Cyrodiil, the year after had been Harkon and the vampire attacks, the year after Madanach had been too frail to travel and by the year after that, the dementia had taken full hold, and all Tamriel knew her as the Widow Queen With a Living Husband.

Elisif gripped Madanach’s hand tight and told herself fiercely that Madanach was here and fine and they’d bring their best little sneaky knife-wielding stirrer-up of trouble and beat the Orlesians at their own game.

“All right, Josephine, get us an invitation,” Elisif said firmly. “And as much information on Celene, Gaspard, and any other notable guests as you can. Anyone who might be able to swing the balance of power or better, upset the party completely. Leliana, that’s your job.”

Leliana and Josephine both nodded and prepared to take their leave. Cullen tilted his head expectantly.

“And did you have any specific orders for me, Inquisitor?” he asked hopefully, and Elisif tried to rack her brains to think of something, but she had a feeling he was going to leave disappointed. And then Madanach spoke.

“Work with Leliana on getting some of your men prepared to sneak into this ball,” Madanach told him. “Corypheus probably won’t send just one assassin, he won’t want to risk Orlais unifying to oppose him. He’ll want chaos and confusion and key people who might lead in her absence killed as well, he’ll have his own troops in the palace, likely with noble patrons loyal to him. They’ll probably start killing in the wake of the assassination. We need our own soldiers there to fight back, and to protect the ones who could keep Orlais functioning if its Empress is dead. Josephine can probably give you a few names now, and we’ll probably know more when Leliana’s done her work. Elisif can make some final decisions nearer the time. Might even be the night of the ball, allegiances can switch fast at things like this.”

Cullen was looking sceptically at him and for a moment Elisif wondered if she had a rebellion on her hands.

“Let me guess, is this what you’d do?” Cullen said wearily, and Madanach looked him in the eye and then grinned.

“If I had the whole Reach gathered together in one place and a rival king to bring down? Or better yet, all the Nord rulers at one party and an unfriendly High King to dispose of? Absolutely,” Madanach purred.

Elisif had never felt so relieved she’d got to Madanach first and dealt with Ulfric. A Stormcloak victory and Madanach out of Cidhna Mine but not Reach-King didn’t bear thinking about.

But Cullen didn’t really know any of that, and so he just stared at Madanach for a moment and then to Elisif’s surprised, actually laughed.

“Thank the Maker you’re on our side,” he laughed. “Well, Inquisitor? Do I have your approval?”

Elisif gave it and Cullen prepared to leave along with the rest of the Council… until they all saw Varric sauntering in.

“Hello, your Inquisitorialness,” Varric said, inclining his head in Elisif’s direction. “Don’t mean to interrupt your top secret councils that are inexplicably being held where anyone can hear them, but I’ve got some information that might help.”

“I don’t have a war room yet,” Elisif said, glancing at Josephine, who hastily began scribbling. “Someone should get on that.”

“At once, Inquisitor,” Josephine gasped. 

“We preserved the chart from Haven, we’ve got details of our operations still,” Cullen promised. “Don’t worry, Herald, we’ll get it up and running by the morning.”

Elisif was really starting to like this being Inquisitor thing. All her advisors just doing what she told them and arranging things for her? She could get used to this. Although she’d like it if someone got her a throne even more. This dais was not comfortable. And so she got Madanach to help her up and stepped forward to see what Varric had to offer.

“You had something to tell me,” Elisif said, wondering slightly why he’d not come forward earlier. “Is this something you’ve mysteriously remembered about Corypheus by any chance?”

“Hey, I found out he was involved at the same time we all did!” Varric protested, holding up his hands. “Before that, it was just speculation and rumour at best. I thought he was dead, Blue-eyes! Bethany and I saw him being killed! I didn’t know he’d managed to survive until he turned up at Haven and I still don’t know how he did it. But I do have contacts, and everyone being all inspirational out there jogged my memory. I’ve been in touch with a few old friends, and one of them thinks she can help. She’s been looking into the Grey Wardens, and she’s concerned about what she’s finding. I think you and she can help each other.”

Mysterious. Very mysterious. Elisif exchanged glances with Madanach, who was clearly also sceptical.

“Any particular reason we’re only hearing about this now?” Madanach growled. Varric backed off but didn’t argue.

“Hey, they only just made Blue-eyes here the official leader. I didn’t have anyone to report this to, and if I had mentioned it, Cassandra might have got involved. I’m not sure I want to deal with the Seeker over this. You on the other hand? You’re reasonable. And I’m sure you’ll like her – it’s honestly long overdue. Well? Can I bring her to Skyhold?”

Elisif sighed and agreed and told him to let her know when this mysterious person arrived. Varric promised he would and left.

“I hope this person turns out to be useful,” Madanach growled suspiciously. “Anyone know who she is? Leliana?”

“I couldn’t say for sure,” Leliana said, although the grin on her face implied that if pressed, she could probably make an educated guess at exactly who it was. “But if he’s brought who I think he has… Cassandra’s going to kill him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mysterious friend's arrival is a way off, because I have stuff to get out of the way first and in real terms, Varric's likely going to broach the topic before Friend's arrival at Skyhold, and secure safe passage first, and Friend is then going to have to wait for Varric telling them it's safe, then travel from wherever they're hiding, all of which takes time. So that'll be a way off.
> 
> Next chapter is the second half of settling in at Skyhold and deciding the fates of two more characters.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As one person leaves the Inquisition, on a mission that might cause more problems than it solves, another's fate has to be decided, and while some people's reactions were predictable, opposition comes from a surprising source, leaving Elisif with not one strange man with knives in her organisation but two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double post because this one just wraps up a few character arcs - well, to be specific, one leaves and one gets to stay.

Before Varric’s mysterious friend could arrive, there were a few other comings and goings to deal with.

First among them was Chancellor Roderick, ecstatic to have survived and eager to make the most of his second chance at life.

“Are you sure absolutely sure you’re not staying?” Elisif asked, honestly not sure it was a good idea for a man in his forties with no combat skills to be off travelling in the middle of a war zone. But Roderick was insistent.

“Thank you, Inquisitor, but my mind is made up,” Roderick said firmly. “I’ve spent too long focusing on mundane matters of logistical organisation and Chantry politics, all of which are important, to be sure, but I have a dozen junior brothers and sisters back in Val Royeaux who are more than capable of overseeing such matters, and indeed have been doing so in my absence. I trained them myself, and more than a few have been desperately awaiting my retirement in order to provide opportunities for their own advancement. I nearly died, Herald. I have your husband to thank for saving me. And… and you were willing to lay down your life for us all. My lady Inquisitor, I let worldly considerations blind me to the will of the Maker, fought you tooth and nail, and look what resulted. A great evil nearly claimed us all, and might do so yet. My course of action is clear. The Maker has shown me the way forward. I will return to Val Royeaux and tell the clerics of what happened at Haven, and that it is the will of the Maker that all good Andrastians should do all they can to support the Inquisition.”

Which was very nice of him, and frankly it was about time, but Elisif was fairly certain he didn’t owe them any more than that, and she told him that.

“Ah, it’s not a matter of owing you anything,” Roderick said, waving her concerns away. “It’s a matter of doing the right thing and of rediscovering my vocation. You’ve given me back a faith I thought I’d lost. After I’ve reported in to Val Royeaux, I shall be resigning my post and travelling Orlais, preaching the word of the Maker and bringing news of His Inquisition, of its leader the Herald of Andraste and her child Maia Stormbreaker, both gifted with the Voice of the Maker.”

“Oh,” Elisif whispered, not sure she wanted Maia dragged into this. And another honour-name, by Stendarr, most people went their whole lives and had to work to acquire one, and Maia had two by age five without even really trying. She’d already had to intervene twice after eager pilgrims arrived, saw Maia playing in the courtyard or the Great Hall or the garden, and promptly descended on her, eager for the Stormbreaker’s blessing. Maia had not helped by offering to try and heal injuries with her still developing Restoration magic. Madanach had ended up scheduling two one hour sessions each week, all appointments to go through him or Josephine, absolutely no exceptions, donations to the Inquisition required and a little gift for Maia also appreciated.

Roderick preaching the word of Maia saving the Inquisition by banishing the blizzard would likely only make matters worse. But it looked to be far too late to stop the avalanche now.

_It will help Tamriel. The Empire can only benefit from its future Empress being thought of as a holy Andrastian figure. If the name Maia Stormbreaker one day starts appearing on official documents from Tamriel, and the more devout Thedosians remember her saving the Inquisition, it can’t hurt._

All the same, Elisif didn’t like it. But it looked like she was stuck with it, and she couldn't even blame Madanach for it. He wasn’t exactly keen either… just making the best of it and ensuring Maia wasn’t overwhelmed.

“You’re leaving us?” That was Madanach himself, arriving from overseeing something or other. Elisif remembered having told him Roderick was off to Val Royeaux, but had she said it was today? She had no idea.

“Chancellor Roderick’s going to tell the Chantry Mothers all about how we survived Corypheus and then he’s travelling Orlais preaching the Word of the Maker and how all true Andrastians should support us,” Elisif told him. Madanach actually raised an eyebrow.

“Is that so? Well, I can’t say I’m not grateful, but isn’t Orlais presently a war zone?”

“There’s presently a ceasefire while Celene arranges peace talks with Gaspard, and I’m sure the Orlesian soldiers wouldn’t hurt a Chantry priest,” Roderick assured them, and Elisif glanced at Madanach, feeling the same feelings in him that she was having – that Roderick was going to get skewered by a bandit within a day of Skyhold.

“Are you sure you don’t want an escort to Val Royeaux at least?” Elisif asked. “We could spare a few soldiers...”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of taking soldiers away from the vulnerable,” Roderick said, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’m not travelling alone. Ser Lysette offered to accompany me – look, here she is.”

Ser Lysette, a Templar who’d joined the Inquisition after the Divine’s death, didn’t look entirely pleased about this, but it turned out her decision was voluntary.

“Someone has to keep Chantry priests with more faith than sense alive,” Lysette sighed. “I hope this is all right, Your Worship. I did ask Commander Cullen.”

Elisif was quite happy with someone keeping an eye on Roderick, whose wilderness survival skills were likely not the best, and soon after, the two of them were off, Elisif and Madanach waving goodbye.

“They’d make a cute couple,” Madanach said, grinning after them. “Think they’ll get together?”

“She’s half his age!” Elisif gasped, amazed at the turns Madanach’s mind took sometimes. “And he’s sworn to celibacy.”

“So? No one to spy on them on the road and they’re both adults – what?? Don’t look at me like that, you’re a lot younger than I am.”

“Yes, but I’m sensible and reasonable and you’re at least half crazy,” Elisif said with a smile, turning to put her arms around his neck, nuzzling his nose affectionately. They’d had this conversation before.

“I really do not think I have the monopoly on insanity, my love,” Madanach murmured, kissing her gently. “You have your moments. Anyway, never mind that, need your opinion on something. Cassandra, Vivienne, Liriel and Solas are having an argument and we need a referee, come on.”

“Oh gods,” Elisif sighed as Madanach led her past the infirmary tents to where the four of them were standing in a small group, not a one looking happy, but Cassandra and Vivienne clearly siding with each other against Solas and Liriel. And nearby, crouched near the healers’ tents, was the boy who’d come to warn them about Corypheus, dressed in his scuffed leathers, lank blond hair doing its best to hide his face, wide brimmed hat doing the rest. Cole.

“Is there a problem?” Elisif asked, wondering what Cole had done. He was a strange one and no mistake… but he seemed harmless, and was certainly no weirder than Cicero.

“A problem?” Cassandra snorted. “You might say that, Herald. This boy is not what he seems. If he is a boy at all?”

Elisif blinked and looked more closely at Cole, wondering if she’d missed something.

“Cole’s a girl??”

Exasperated sigh from Cassandra and Vivienne rolled her eyes.

“It is a demon. This… creature is not human but a denizen from the Fade, here for Maker knows what purpose. It needs banishing.”

“And I keep telling you the standard banishing rituals won’t work,” Liriel sighed, gesturing at Cole. “He isn’t a Daedra. He’s… well, the usual detection spells aren’t saying anything. He’s showing up as human.”

“Except he is not,” Solas said, stepping in. “He is from the Fade, but he is no demon, which I daresay is why Liriel’s techniques for detecting Daedra, as you call them, are not working. Cole is a spirit, come through the Veil and taking the form of this young man.”

“He’s possessed?” Elisif gasped. While she wasn’t one to oppose the arcane on principle, unwanted demonic possession was not something she could just let slide. “Madanach, we have to do something! You must know some rites of exorcism, surely?”

“No, but Eola might, and from something Alistair said, such things aren’t unknown among Circle mages either, but believe it or not, that’s not actually the problem,” Madanach said, looking rather apologetic as he gestured at the boy. “He’s not possessed. That’s Cole the Spirit’s actual form. I think he might be an Aedra of some sort.”

Elisif looked to Solas for confirmation, and Liriel had actually squeaked and started casting a golden spell of some sort.

“Oh my goodness,” Liriel gasped. “Would you look at that. He is! Elisif, we’ve got a real life Aedric being, right here in Skyhold, we’ve got to keep him!”

“We have to do no such thing!” Cassandra cried. “If this… this being is from beyond the Veil… Elisif, we must find a way to send it back!”

“Or dispose of it entirely,” Vivienne purred. “Really, this artificial distinction you people insist on drawing between Aedra and Daedra when we all know a spirit perverted can become the worst kind of demon would be quaint if it weren’t so dangerous. Inquisitor, no denizen of the Fade can be trusted. Have this one banished, for all our sakes… or killed.”

“He has done nothing wrong!” Solas cried, furious. “Did he or did he not help us?”

“Barely,” Cassandra said, glaring at Cole. “And there is plenty of time for him to possess someone or turn demon.”

“They don’t turn…!” Liriel cried, before turning to Elisif, giving up on Cassandra and pleading her case to someone who might actually listen. “Look, I know Aedra don’t always have the best intentions towards humans – Spriggans attack on sight, and you’d have to be insane to claim dragons were harmless. But this one’s gone out of his way to appear human. He’s clearly come here for a reason. We should at least try and find what that reason is?”

Elisif ignored Vivienne’s tart remark that it had probably taken a human appearance so as to lull them all into a false sense of security, and Solas’s insistence that spirits simply did not do that, such premeditated planning was alien to their natures, and turned to Madanach.

“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t have an opinion,” Elisif said, nudging him. “Maybe you don’t want to make the decision, but you must have some thoughts.”

Madanach just shrugged.

“Honestly, if it was up to me, I’d be agreeing with Vivienne – don’t look so shocked!” 

Elisif's face clearly betrayed her surprise, and she wasn’t the only one. All four of their friends had heard him say this and stopped arguing, trying to work out if they’d heard that right. Solas was rubbing his ears, clearly no longer trusting his hearing, Cassandra was likewise confused, Vivienne was practically preening and Liriel was looking utterly betrayed.

“Madanach!” Liriel cried. “You’re not meant to agree with _her!_ ”

“Now, now, darling, he’s not a fool, he’s got to be right some of the time,” Vivienne said smugly. “I’m pleased he’s not completely blind to the dangers of the Fade.”

It was a surprise to Elisif, because most Reach-magic seemed based around completely ignoring the dangers of the spirit world, but he had to have his reasons.

“You don’t trust Cole?” she asked, and Madanach shook his head.

“He’s a creature from the spirit world, intentions unknown, not behaving like any other creature of the Fade we know of, and he’s here. Elisif, you should know Reachman cosmology holds that the Aedra and Daedra are not the separate types of beings the rest of Tamriel seems to think they are. They’re all spirits of some kind or other, only the Aedra helped make the world and the Daedra did not. He might be an Aedra, but that does not mean his presence is benign. Do you honestly think I want something that unpredictable around?”

Which made sense but...

“But you’re still asking me what I think,” Elisif said, confused, because she’d seen Cole in that dark future, and he’d been the one to comfort her after she’d heard of Maia’s death. A year of the most horrific circumstances and he’d not turned demon. He was no monster, she knew that much.

“Yes, cariad, because you are the Inquisitor, not me, and if I’d kicked him out without asking you, you would have sulked for a month,” Madanach sighed. “I’m not risking marital happiness over the wretched boy. So yes, final decision is yours. Even if I don’t agree with it. You’re a good judge of character, Elisif. If you decide we’re keeping him, I shall tolerate his presence unless he gives me a reason not to.”

Well of course Elisif wanted to keep him. Cole hadn’t done anything wrong, he’d tried to help, and she had a bit of a soft spot for damaged individuals in need of a bit of loving care. But she also had Cassandra, Vivienne and, it turned out, a sceptical husband to convince that Cole would be an asset.

“In that case, I should at least talk to him, shouldn’t I?” Elisif said, looking around. “Anyone know where he went?”

Cole had slipped away while they’d been talking, and given the boy’s ability to move quietly and disappear, he could be anywhere.

“And this is why we should get rid of him, my dear,” Vivienne said as she took her leave. “We not only can’t trust him, we can’t even _find_ him.”

Cassandra also left, as did Solas, and it was Liriel who was the last to leave, staring at Elisif.

“That doesn’t mean he’s a bad person,” Liriel said firmly. “We keep Cicero around, don’t we? And he’s worse.”

They did indeed keep Cicero, and Elisif decided that keeping Cicero and kicking Cole out made no sense whatsoever, and she told Liriel this.

“I knew you’d understand,” Liriel said, grinning. She left, leaving Madanach to glare at Elisif.

“You are too kindhearted for your own good sometimes,” Madanach muttered, glancing around. “Seriously, if he turns out to be a liability I’m kicking him out myself. We already have one creepy knife-wielding weirdo to put up with, we don’t need two.”

“He’s not a bad person,” Elisif insisted, catching sight of him kneeling by a wounded soldier in the courtyard’s infirmary. “Come on, let’s go talk to him. Let’s see why he’s here and what he wants.”

Cole was speaking softly, in that odd stream of consciousness way he had, and whether he was talking to himself or the patient, Elisif wasn’t sure, but he was definitely echoing the man’s thoughts somehow.

“Parched, burning, throat dry, lips cracking, can barely breathe from hurting,” Cole said softly, reaching for a water flask. “Here.”

The delirious patient accepted the water and lay back, seemingly feeling better. Cole nodded and moved on to the next patient over.

“Smell of my daughter’s hair as I kiss her goodnight. Pain hurt so much but I don’t even feel it any more. Maker help me, is it the fire in the Chant? Fading, going… gone.”

The woman on the stretcher breathed her last as he spoke and fell back, dead.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I want on my deathbed, some weird boy broadcasting my dying thoughts to the world. Bad enough Cicero’ll probably be there,” Madanach muttered. “Elisif, seriously, please send him away.”

“Hush,” Elisif told him as she approached Cole, who’d moved on to another dying soldier. “Hello, Cole? What are you up to?” 

Cole stopped what he was doing and stood up, not quite looking in her direction, lank blond hair obscuring most of his face and his hat shading his eyes.

“Helping,” Cole said quietly. “I… help them. When they need help.”

Elisif could feel Madanach’s frustration and to a certain extent she shared it. But Elisif was nothing if not skilled at talking to young people whose ability to communicate their thoughts in words was a bit undeveloped.

“And what do you help them with?” Elisif said, keeping her voice soft and gentle so as not to alarm him.

“When they’re in need. Or in pain. Or sad,” Cole said, scuffing the ground with his feet. “I can hear them. Hear their thoughts. I help them. I can’t not. I make them feel better. Make them think differently. They don’t remember. It’s better that way. But they feel differently after.”

“Sorry, he does _what??_ ” Madanach demanded. “He reads people’s minds, _manipulates their thoughts,_ and no one even knows he’s doing it??”

Elisif wasn’t sure what to say to that one, and then Cole looked up and stared Madanach straight in the eye.

“Frightened, fearing, fearing they’ll know, weakness on show, can’t let the world see it or they’ll come for my city again, fearing my own mind, what if I get ill again, what if I’m not me any more, helpless, failing, Maia needs me, Elisif needs me, Alistair needs me, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to be that pathetic again, I don’t want… ah!”

The ice explosion near Cole’s head forced the boy to stagger back to avoid being impaled, and Elisif spun round to see Madanach glaring at Cole, far more livid than she’d seen him in a long time, ice magic already hovering around his hands, ready to end Cole for good.

“You do not ever do that to me again, boy, you hear me?” Madanach growled, and Elisif could only think it a mercy he’d not actually killed Cole.

Cole hesitated, clearly feeling the same cold rage Elisif was, except far more keenly what with it being directed at him, and then nodded.

“I won’t,” he whispered. “I am not like… I help people! I don’t hurt them.”

“I know,” Elisif said, not quite keeping the concern out of her voice. “But don’t poke around Madanach’s mind. He’s suffered enough. Don’t touch Maia’s either. Or any of the children. Let them remember what you said to them.”

“It’s easier with children,” Cole said quietly. “They don’t fear as much. They’re more trusting. And they’re simpler. It’s easy to make a child feel better. A toy, a cuddle, someone to listen. Adults are harder. They’re more complicated. Adult problems are bigger, scarier. _They’re_ bigger and scarier. Better they don’t remember. But you know I’m here. You can see me. And so can he. And you said you’d rather remember. So forgetting won’t help. So… so I don’t do it.”

“I think that’s a yes?” Elisif told Madanach hopefully. Madanach just grimaced.

“I am _not_ all right with this,” Madanach growled. “I see people start behaving oddly, we are tracking him down and disposing of him if we link it to him, I promise you, Elisif.”

“Cole won’t do that, will you,” Elisif said firmly, hoping Cole fully understood that Madanach was very very serious about this… and to her surprise Cole actually seemed all right with this.

“Yes,” Cole said, looking her straight in the eye. “If I turn into a demon and start hurting people, you need to kill me. You or Cassandra or Cullen or Madanach or Alistair, you need to kill me.”

“What, really?” Elisif asked, trying to ignore the sudden burst of surprised glee from Madanach. “You’d actually want us to kill you?”

“If I turn into a monster, yes,” Cole said softly. “You have to _stop_ me.”

“Done,” Madanach said instantly. “You stay here, sunshine, your every fucking move is going to be so heavily scrutinised you can’t even have a piss without me knowing about it.”

“Oh, I don’t need to do that, I don’t eat,” Cole said, missing the point completely. Madanach made a strangled noise of frustration that not even Cicero could get out of him most days, tearing at his hair, and it was all Elisif could do to put an arm around him and soothe him.

“We will make sure it doesn’t get to that stage, Cole,” Elisif promised. “Now, were you going to help this man?”

“Yes,” Cole said, kneeling by the semi-conscious soldier. “He’s dying. The healers have done all they can. It’ll be hours before he dies, agony all the while. They don’t have enough poppy-milk to soothe the pain.”

A knife appeared in Cole’s hand and Elisif realised horrified what he was going to do. He glanced up at her as if asking permission, and Elisif, panicking, turned to Madanach for help.

“Don’t look at me, you said you wanted to keep him,” Madanach growled. “At least he’s asking. Give him an answer.”

Elisif turned back, wondering if there was another way… and realised things had just got worse, because Cicero had appeared from out of nowhere, crouched on the ground and growling at Cole. Cole for his part had gone on full alert, backing away from Cicero.

“Oh good, now the other one’s shown up,” Madanach muttered.

“You’re a bad man,” Cole whispered. “Sneaking, stabbing, the knife in the shadows, prowling behind your prey until you’re ready to _strike!_ ”

Cicero barely flinched as Cole cried out, even smiling in acknowledgement of the accusation. Cole just shuddered and turned away.

“I am _not_ like you,” Cole said, shivering.

“ _That_ remains to be seen,” Madanach muttered, clearly unconvinced that Cole wasn’t just another Cicero waiting to happen.

“Cicero carries out the Inquisitors’ personal stabbing needs, not you,” Cicero growled. “Cicero is watching, Fade-creature.”

“Good,” Madanach announced cheerfully, seeing an opportunity and seizing on it. “Cicero, Cole was concerned he might turn into a monster, at which point we’d be forced to stab him. You’ll be all right keeping an eye on him, won’t you?”

“ _Happily!_ ” Cicero purred, tilting his head as he grinned at Cole. “When is this likely to happen? Cicero wants to know if it’s worth waiting for or if he should come back.”

“Cicero!” Elisif cried, realising this situation was rapidly sliding out of control. “No one is stabbing _anyone!_ ”

Cole’s eyes slipped to the comatose soldier, and Cicero’s gaze followed his, a distraction serving to at least take Cicero’s attention off Cole. Which was something.

“Are we stabbing this one, Inquisitor?” Cicero asked, glancing at the dying man. “He is clearly not long for this world. Cicero would be happy to help!”

“No!” Cole cried, appalled. “I mean, not like that! You’re not helping! You like stabbing people!”

Cicero didn’t object. He chuckled, grinned and looked slyly up at Cole, smirking at him.

“Does it matter, spirit boy? He will still be dead. We were taught in the Brotherhood that while it was better to enjoy our work, it was in no way _required._ ”

Cole shuddered and staggered away, straight into Elisif, who promptly took Cole in her arms, deciding enough was enough.

“Madanach, is there anything you can do for this man,” Elisif said firmly. “He might not actually be dying.”

Madanach sighed and went to examine him, tutting as he checked his temperature, examined his wounds and then summoned Restoration magic to his fingers. As the golden spell coursed through him, the man opened his eyes, gasping for breath, and then turning to stare at Madanach.

“Worship,” he gasped. “What happened? There was a Templar and then...”

“You were injured, soldier,” Madanach said gruffly. “But you’re going to make it, and you’re going to wield a blade for the Inquisition again one day. I’ll get the healers to have a look at you and you’ll need to rest, but you’re going to make it.”

“I will?” he gasped. “I mean, I will! Yes sir.”

The man fell back, the effort of speaking wearing him out, but he looked a lot healthier than previously. Cicero sniffed, looking very disappointed.

“No stabbing today?” he said, pouting.

“Not that one, no,” Madanach told him. “Why don’t you find Leliana and see if she’s got anyone in need of killing? There’s nearly always someone.”

That cheered Cicero up and off he scampered in the direction of the main keep. Meanwhile Madanach got up and returned to where Elisif was still comforting Cole… whose mood had suddenly improved.

“You helped him!” Cole breathed. “You help people! You complain and snap but you help people anyway.”

Madanach glared at Cole but didn’t object.

“I try,” he said, shrugging. “Elisif, we need to get some mage healers integrated with the infirmary. Stitches and cauterising and elfroot is all very well, but if healing magic can assist physical procedures, we should use it. Also that chief surgeon was talking about the correct balance of the bodily humours earlier. I really don’t think she should be in sole charge of the infirmary.”

“Why, doesn’t she know how to balance them properly?” Elisif asked, a bit confused, particularly when Madanach sighed wearily at her.

“There’s no such thing as bodily humours, Elisif!” Madanach sighed. “I showed the text they’re using that detailed the humours and their function to Eola and when she’d finished laughing, she said the diagrams were all wrong, the organs just did not do that, and the fluids they describe in lavish detail are either something else entirely, only present in cases of disease or injury, or non-existent! And Eola’s done enough dissections in her time to know.” 

“You want to overhaul the infirmary, don’t you?” Elisif said, making a mental note to ask for a mage healer if she ever got injured.

“Yes,” said Madanach, pleading look in his eyes. “Seriously, any clinic in Tamriel, any military infirmary in the Legion, would have mundane and magical practices working together. Here we’ve got mundane healers and magical healers working separately, no one trusting the mages and the mundanes apparently making shit up as they go along, because secular research is in its infancy and no one bothered to ask any Circles for help on academic discipline, and the Chantry’s probably staring down everyone's neck to make sure no one’s committing any heresy. Elisif, people’s lives are at stake here. You saw how we just saved one man the healers gave up for dead!”

“I saw,” Elisif said, smiling as she always did when Madanach was getting passionate about something. “You have full Inquisitorial permission to do whatever you need to. Inquisition lives are depending on this, and if we can also get injured soldiers returned to fighting condition quicker, that’ll give us an edge.”

“What, really?” Madanach said, surprised. He’d been gearing up for a fight, the whole Cole disagreement having rattled him and shaken his faith in his wife’s judgement. But looking into her eyes, he remembered that, some disagreements aside, she and he were usually on the same page and usually had each other’s backs, and that her penchant for rescuing lost and damaged people that the rest of the world spurned had not worked out too badly for him, had it now.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, kissing her on the cheek. Glancing down at Cole, he decided that if the boy was at least still unnerved by Cicero, he wasn’t all bad.

“I suppose Cole can stay,” he said brusquely. “He might come in useful.”

Elisif smiled and thanked him and watched in relief as Madanach left, a whole new project to occupy him and Cole being tolerated, if not loved. It would do. She turned back to Cole, who was watching Madanach leave.

“You made him think it was his idea,” Cole whispered. “You’re like a spirit! A smile, a few words, gentle touches and Madanach thinks differently!”

“Oh, it’s not magic,” Elisif said, amused. “I just know him well. He can only get worked up about one thing at a time. Give him something else to think about and he won’t be that bothered about anyone else. The state of Thedosian magical and technological knowledge is pretty much guaranteed to get him going.”

“Oh,” Cole whispered. Then a determined look appeared on his face.

“I will not be like Cicero,” Cole promised. “I won’t kill people. You keep him here because you want to make sure he doesn’t, don’t you? Give him someone to kill who deserves it and he won’t kill the innocent.”

“The only other option is executing him, but I can’t,” Elisif said softly. “I saved him from the Dark Brotherhood when they turned on him, that’s his old order of assassins. And they had a contract out on me, and he repaid me by betraying them so we could kill them. I think that means I can’t just order him killed. So I make sure he’s kept busy. There’s always someone who can make lives better by dying.”

“Corypheus,” Cole whispered. “He kills people. And he hurt the Templars too. You haven’t told anyone but the red lyrium corrupts their souls. Not black souls any more. No afterlife.”

“I don’t want to start a panic,” Elisif whispered. “Not a word to anyone, Cole. There’s already rumours, best we don’t confirm them.”

Cole nodded.

“I will help you,” he whispered. “I’ll stay. I’ll help. I promise.”

“Then welcome to the Inquisition, Cole,” Elisif told him. He was an unorthodox recruit, but his heart was in the right place. It remained to be seen how this would go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Cole was staying. It's going to be a fascinating dynamic between him and Cicero, I must say. It's like they're the good and evil twin spirits of Sneaking and Stabbing.
> 
> Chancellor Roderick's character arc is likely over so this is probably the last you'll see of him. What he and Lysette get up to, I'll leave to the readers' imaginations.
> 
> Next chapter introduces something which doesn't happen in canon but would be in character and something that's honestly long overdue. It's the Inquisition's first bit of real political diplomacy and will certainly prove... controversial.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being officially the boss means having to officially make decisions and deal with politics. And Elisif's first big political decision is one that could end up remaking the fates of nations. However, the immediate consequences could end up remaking her very family, and not necessarily for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, welcome back. This one goes somewhat off canon, in that political developments happen that haven't happened in the DA verse but might make sense to. They certainly make sense here, because the nuggalope in the room called Tamriel that's looming in the background had to start making its presence known at some point. Also, you know how you don't get a mabari in Inquisition? Don't you think that's something that could use fixing? ;)

It wasn’t to get any easier. Barely a week into her tenure as Inquisitor, and Dorian was rather apologetically handing over a note from Felix, explaining that he’d decided against going back to Tevinter and was remaining indefinitely in Denerim, but that he’d written to every member of the Magisterium to protest against the Venatori and urge them to fight, and that he was fairly sure Magister Maevaris Tilani would ensure it at least got a debate.

Which was lovely, but what was not so lovely was Queen Anora deciding that the circumstances of Felix Alexius remaining in Denerim meant she now had a conflict of interest regarding his father’s trial, and that former magister Gereon Alexius was being delivered to the Inquisition for trial and judgement. And that, as Josephine managed to inform her in between having fits over how to entertain Fereldan royalty ( _‘no Cullen, putting up a few dog statues will not do, Queen Anora is an elegant and cultured woman used to the best!’_ ), Anora had decided to pay a personal visit to discuss relations between the Fereldan Crown and the newly-formed Inquisition.

“Is… is that bad? We have lots of noble visitors,” Elisif whispered. 

“Not royalty!” Josephine cried. “Kings and Queens do not leave their capitals lightly! They might make Grand Tours of their kingdoms to ensure all is well and check on the nobles, but they do not leave to make personal journeys to visit foreign powers without a pressing cause. Anora coming to us could be seen as an admission of weakness on her part! If it was just a diplomatic courtesy, she would send envoys. If she is coming in person… Inquisitor, she wants something from us, and I cannot imagine what.”

Nor could Madanach, which troubled Elisif even more, and what truly troubled both of them was that Felix knew about Tamriel. Had he said something to Anora?? Had Gereon said something under interrogation?

It didn’t bear thinking about, and yet Elisif could not think of anything else.

But when Anora finally arrived, it was with smiles and courtesy and Felix Alexius on her arm, and while he looked a little embarrassed at all the finery and attention, he was pleased to see them all.

The initial pleasantries passed without event, Felix went to catch up with Dorian, Alistair had made himself scarce for the whole thing, Cullen oversaw Gereon’s incarceration, and Anora smiled at Elisif and decided she’d like a tour of the battlements while they discussed business.

Elisif laughed nervously and followed, feeling dowdy by comparison next to Anora, whose travelling dress looked incomparably stylish next to Elisif’s trouser suit, a velvet ensemble in bright blue and gold colours but looking more like a military officer’s uniform than something a queen might want to wear to impress another monarch. Mercifully, Anora didn’t seem to notice.

“This is a very impressive fortress,” Anora said, surveying the valley below and the Inquisition army camps that had started to gather. “And in such a short time! You’re becoming a force to be reckoned with, Inquisitor.”

“I hope so, I already had to flee one base, I don’t want another attacked!” Elisif said, trying not to think about Haven burning and her people dying and not being sure if her daughter was all right or not.

“Very wise of you, but not many would have gone from fleeing for their lives to setting up all this so quickly,” Anora said cryptically. “You’re a resourceful woman, Queen Elisif.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty… wait.” Elisif looked up, her worst fears crystallising as she realised Anora was not here to negotiate with the Inquisitor. She’d used her Tamrielic title. 

“I’m not Queen of anywhere in Thedas,” Elisif said nervously, going for the bluff. “Why would you call me that?”

Anora motioned for her guards to retreat out of earshot and led Elisif to the very edge of the battlements.

“Let’s not dance around this any longer, Elisif,” Anora said, cutting to the chase. “We’re not Orlesians, either of us. Felix and I became lovers some weeks ago, Elisif, and he told me all he knew. About Redcliffe. About what the Venatori spies heard while infiltrating the mage rebellion and passed on to his father. Some frankly unbelievable stories about the Tamrielic Empire, where mages are free and elves don’t live in alienages and you’ve got eight gods. I didn’t believe it at first, but I keep hearing stories of the Inquisition’s adventures, and the ability to dispel storms is not something any mage in Thedas would have. Also your husband is a mage, a mage with a Fereldan name. I’ve checked the records of Kinloch Hold’s mage circle. He was never a member, so who trained him and how did he avoid the Templars for so long? It is true, isn’t it. There’s another land out there and you are from there. A noble from the look of it. You and Madanach are King and Queen of the Reach?”

Oh. Well, damn. It was out there, officially… sort of. Anora knew and who knew what she might do with the knowledge. But that she’d told no one and come here instead and let Elisif know she knew… that boded well. Anora clearly wanted something… but that meant she might be offering something in return.

“He is, I’m not – well, Queen Consort by marriage,” Elisif sighed, giving in and admitting the truth. Quite honestly, it was a relief not to have to pretend. “I’m High Queen of Skyrim. That’s a land a lot like Ferelden. There’s even some evidence that the Alamarri that colonised Ferelden were originally from there – the Avvar share cultural elements with us and they speak a form of Tamrielic. They’re kin to Skyrim’s Nord people, which means anyone descended from the Alamarri is as well. We think maybe Andraste really did have the same Voice I do and that’s why they all followed her. But yes. Tamriel’s real. I did a ritual for healing for Madanach, and a woman appeared and told me if I helped her, she’d heal him. So I said yes and she sent me here just in time for the Temple of Sacred Ashes to blow up. And she healed Madanach, and he came to find me, bringing our little girl. So here I am. Inquisitor of Thedas. I’m not sure what that means yet.”

Anora had listened to all this, eyes widening… and her face lighting up.

“For Ferelden, quite possibly everything,” Anora gasped. “Elisif, it can’t have escaped your notice that I’m romantically involved with a Tevinter, and not one with much power or influence in the Imperium either. His father has been stripped of rank and exiled – the Alexius name is less than worthless there now. On a personal level, it’s not something I care about. But on a political level, marrying a Tevinter is impossible for a ruler who’s a baptised member of the Orlesian Chantry.”

The way she said Orlesian sounded off to Elisif, as if Anora was trying to tell her something. Trying to hint that membership of the Orlesian Chantry prevented marriage to a Tevinter, but membership of another might allow it? But the only other one was the Tevinter Chantry and Elisif couldn’t see that going over well.

“The Chantry’s in no position to forbid it at the moment,” Elisif told her. “Did you want Inquisition approval of the nuptials?”

“That would be most welcome, Inquisitor,” Anora said, inclining her head. “But I didn’t come here just to negotiate with the Inquisition. I wanted to know if the Tamrielic Empire wanted an ally in Thedas.”

“You...” Elisif had to place a hand against the stone parapet to stop herself falling over. “You want an alliance. Ferelden and Tamriel.”

“Yes,” Anora said, unconsciously clasping her hands. “Yes, I do. I think I have a way round the Chantry problem, but it will be… controversial. Very controversial. And I need to go ahead with it quickly while the Chantry is leaderless, Templar-less and incapable of responding, and while Orlais herself is too wrapped up in her own civil war to do anything with us. I would like Inquisition approval so as to mollify those of my own people who are harbouring misgivings, but in all honesty, given the amount of anti-Orlesian sentiment in Ferelden still, I think I can get it past the Landsmeet. But the Inquisition might not last forever, and I’m sincerely hoping the current crisis doesn’t. I need a more long-term solution. I am thinking an alliance with the Tamrielic Empire might be just the thing. Well? Can you help? You must have contacts with sufficient standing to negotiate an alliance.”

Elisif more than had contacts. Elisif could probably sign a treaty now and have the Empire go along with it. But she needed to know just what Anora was planning first.

“You need to tell me what you’re up to first,” Elisif said, wondering what was so controversial a move that might incur the wrath of both the Chantry and the Orlesian government… and then it occurred to her that if Anora wished to remove herself from the religious strictures of the Orlesian Chantry without declaring herself apostate, there was another way. One that might exploit anti-Orlesian sentiment in Ferelden.

“I’m breaking away from the Orlesian Chantry and founding a Fereldan one,” Anora said, face going pink and her voice speeding up as it seemed to dawn on her that she was really doing it, really changing Ferelden’s future forever. “There’s been a movement for this since we got independence, but it’s never caught on… but I have a number of Grand Clerics and Chantry Mothers who would support it, and that number has grown considerably since the Divine’s death. The Chantry has hardly covered itself in glory, and the Templars even less so.”

Tales of the Red Templars had got around, and what the Chargers had found in the abandoned Seeker fortress in Therinfal – on Fereldan soil – was worse. Evidence of demon worship, including a powerful envy demon that could impersonate people and which Krem and the others had only just returned from hunting down, more red lyrium, bodies of murdered Templars who’d clearly tried to stop their brothers and sisters and been killed for their trouble. After hearing this, the Inquisition support for mage freedom seemed a lot less controversial.

“And if you have your own Chantry, it doesn’t have to be quite so antagonistic towards Tevinter, which means you can marry one,” Elisif said thoughtfully. “Especially if you can influence who gets to be the Fereldan Divine.”

“Oh, we’re not bothering with one of those,” Anora said airily. “I’m taking charge as Head of the Chantry. The office of King or Queen is chosen by the Landsmeet, nobles who are chosen by their people – this move will put the Fereldan Chantry under the control of those who follow it. We may need a Chantry to provide comfort to the faithful and lead worship, but we have the Chant of Light. Anyone can read it. We hardly need a Divine telling us what’s right or wrong. Most of us are capable of working this out for ourselves.”

“No wonder you need Inquisition support,” Elisif whispered, because this was quite the theological breakaway. For an entire country to decide they weren’t having a Divine any more, but figuring out the right thing themselves from the Chant… it set a dangerous precedent. And yet… 

Elisif could have a Thedosian ally for Tamriel out of this. Madanach would probably approve of anything that undermined the Chantry. And Alistair had deconverted, he’d lost the right to object.

“The Inquisition committed itself to mage freedom, I hope you’re not expecting us to give our approval to anything that’s intending to put mages back in Circles,” Elisif warned her, and Anora laughed.

“Hardly. I think we can work something out regarding magical law enforcement and mage integration. I’m no fool, Elisif. I don’t even know if I can get this to work domestically without Inquisition support, never mind deal with Orlais. Well? Are you in?”

Elisif inclined her head and smiled.

“I think we can work something out,” Elisif told her. “And about that alliance… I think we can work that out too. I’m the leader of a province the Empire relies upon, I have the Emperor’s ear… and I can safely promise the co-operation of his current heir too. Don’t worry. Tamriel’s got your back. Especially as it turns out Fereldans are distant kin to Nords and probably Reachfolk as well. I can do something with that. Tales of Andraste the Lost Dragonborn, who died a hero’s death and is with the gods in Sovngarde… that’ll play well back home. The Nords will want to get to know their lost kin.”

“Yes,” Anora said softly, pondering this. “I mean, I’ll need proof of the links. I know of some scholars who have been trying to get me to fund research into the Avvar for months. I keep telling them it’s too dangerous, that the Avvar are hostile barbarians… but here you are saying they’re kin to you. In that case, would you mind me sending these researchers your way? It benefits us both to know more about ancient Avvar history and how closely it tallies with Tamrielic culture. If we have firm evidence the Alamarri really were from Tamriel, this will make the case for a Fereldan Chantry even stronger. If Andraste herself could be presented as an exiled Tamrielite, if we can present ourselves as kin to Tamriel, that sells the alliance even more. We’re rediscovering our ancestral homeland and culture, we’re throwing off Orlesian impositions that have taken us away from who we really are, yes, I can work with this. _If_ you can assure us of Tamrielic support?”

“No one is supposed to officially know Tamriel exists yet,” Elisif felt obliged to remind her. “Unofficially, yes of course, I’ve got a Fereldan lover, I’m not going to screw his country over! He’d never forgive me! But no one knows Tamriel exists yet, and officially I’m just an Avvar warrior who was in the right place at the right time.”

“An extremely well-spoken Avvar with an education and the ability to command armies,” Anora said, rather condescendingly. “But don’t worry. I can wait for your Empire’s official arrival. When it does, you’ll be there to make introductions on our behalf, yes?”

That, Elisif could promise. And so Elisif and Anora began quietly discussing and plotting how this was going to work out, and how to discreetly popularise tales of Tamriel, get people in Ferelden talking without any official revelations being made, and between them, a plan started to form.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Elisif and Anora talked for some hours over things political, but even they had to return to the keep eventually – a keep tidied and refurbished by this point, clean of debris, the roof fixed, furniture in place and even a throne for Elisif to hold court in. Which she’d be doing soon enough for Alexius’s trial.

But when Elisif and Anora returned to the keep, the thing occupying everyone’s attention was little Maia Stormbreaker galloping the length of the hall on the back of a big mabari hound, squealing her head off while Alistair watched indulgently, Dorian and Felix by his side, and Varric across from them, scribbling something at one of the tables, no doubt thinking how best to write it in the inevitable tale of the Inquisition when it came out.

“Is that a dog?” Elisif whispered, wondering where on Nirn it had come from… and then she couldn’t help but turn guilty eyes to Anora, who’d gone positively glacial.

“That is your child, isn’t it,” Anora said softly, dangerously. “Riding one of my dogs.”

“I am so sorry,” Elisif whispered, mortified at the thought of this alliance going down the privy so quickly. “I had no idea… MAIA! Stop that at once! Where did you even find that poor animal??”

Maia and mabari both stopped in their tracks, Maia staring at her mother in horror… and the dog likewise turning piteous eyes on her, even whimpering. Slowly, Maia slid off the dog’s back and shuffled nervously up to her mother.

“I didn’t mean to,” Maia whispered. “I was just playing!”

The dog had actually followed her over and had dropped into a submissive bow, head down and tail raised, whining at Elisif.

“You can’t just play with someone else’s dog, Maia!” Elisif sighed, massaging her forehead, wondering how to sort this one out… and mercifully, Felix turned up to intercede.

“Don’t blame her, it was me who introduced them, and Dorian and I were encouraging her,” Felix admitted, sidling up to Anora and slipping an arm around her. Anora turned her gaze on to him, not letting up in the slightest.

“And I think it was Alistair who came up with the riding idea… now where’s he gone?”

Alistair had taken one look at the developing situation and promptly fled the room, and shortly thereafter, Madanach arrived with Josephine behind him, wanting to know why Alistair was hiding under the war table begging Madanach to save him – ah.

“Hello, Your Majesty,” Madanach said, only slightly nervously, taking in Maia wringing her hands, a whimpering dog at her heels, Elisif looking mortified… and Felix trying to mollify an irate Queen of Ferelden. “What, er… what exactly happened?”

“Nothing, nothing, we were just encouraging Maia to play with the dog, and it got a little out of hand but no one’s hurt and nothing’s broken, so no need to worry, is there, amata?” Felix said soothingly, rubbing Anora’s back. It really wasn’t working.

“That dog is a purebred mabari whose great-great-grandparents helped lead the charge in the Battle of River Dane, whose granddam was my childhood companion and whose mother is my personal war dog even now!” Anora snarled at him. “And YOU were supposed to be befriending her so that she’d imprint on you and you’d have a mabari of your own!”

“I’ve tried!” Felix sighed. “She’s just not that into me. And honestly, I think I’d rather have a cat? Come on, I don’t hunt or fight. I’m a mathematician, I really don’t need a mabari.”

“You do if you want Fereldan nobility to accept you as one of them!” Anora cried, close to losing it. “As it is, the dogs avoid you, and _people are noticing_. So I tried with an adolescent that I’d reared, hoping that might help one imprint on you, and what did you do? Encourage her to play with the Inquisitor’s daughter, and now she’s _imprinted on her!_ ”

Silence as everyone turned to look at Maia, who was looking nervously at her mother.

“I didn’t mean to!” Maia wailed. “I was just...” 

“Playing. I know,” Elisif sighed, staring at the dog, which had shuffled nearer Maia and started to nuzzle her. Maia promptly responded by cuddling the dog, head buried in its fur.

“Could someone possibly clarify what imprinting a mabari means?” Madanach asked, staring at the dog and trying to keep the distaste from showing too obviously, and it occurred to her that one of the first things Madanach had done on taking possession of Understone Keep had been to banish the dogs to the city stables, citing hygiene risks… but Elisif realised what she should have seen earlier. Her husband was not a dog lover.

“Mabari are intelligent animals, they’re not like common beasts!” Anora sighed, from where she was currently resting her head on Felix’s shoulder, desperately in need of some comfort. “They understand what you say to them, can follow orders… and when they reach adolescence, they will imprint on a human companion, and from then on will be inseparable. I _had_ hoped that one would imprint on Felix so as to improve his standing in Ferelden. Alas, I am to be disappointed.”

That was not good, and Elisif could see from the haunted look on Madanach’s face that he’d realised it too. They’d unintentionally stolen the Queen of Ferelden’s dog, which was a diplomatic screw up by anyone’s standards, and Josephine looked like she was about to cry.

Fortunately, Felix had also realised the gravity of the situation, and he did truly love Anora, it seemed, because he’d pulled her into an embrace and kissed her hair.

“I’m sorry, amata,” he murmured to her. “I didn’t know it was bothering you quite that much. If it will make you happy, I will try again with one of the others in the kennels. Did you say they can understand when you talk?”

“Yes, they’re known for it, why?” Anora asked, and Felix smiled and kissed her forehead.

“Then could I talk to them? Alone, with no people around?” he asked. “I think I know why they’re avoiding me. But if they can understand people, then if I talk to them, it might help. And if it’ll make you happy… I’ll do it, OK?” 

Anora looked up, startled to see he’d acquiesced so quickly. 

“What, really? You’d do that for me? Without being made to?”

“Yes,” Felix told her, growing serious. “Of course I would. I’d do anything you asked, you know that.”

Anora let out a little gasp and promptly flung her arms round him, cuddling him tight, and everyone collectively relaxed, sensing Anora at least wasn’t going to be calling for anyone’s head, not today.

“About the dog,” Elisif said hesitantly. “We would be quite happy to offer suitable compensation for it, wouldn’t we, Josie?”

“Absolutely,” Josephine said, stepping forward, confidence returning now she knew the Queen of Ferelden wasn’t going to declare war on them. “We know they are highly prized by your people, but we can offer sufficient coin and favours to cover the value...”

“Oh, think nothing of it,” Anora said, tearing her attention away from Felix. “It is after all customary to offer one’s allies gifts, is it not? Lady Elisif, would you be willing to accept this gift of a mabari for your little girl from the throne of Ferelden?”

“I would be honoured,” Elisif replied, relieved to have a diplomatic incident averted, and with the situation defused, Elisif and Josephine escorted Anora and Felix out. After Maia had very charmingly said thank you to Anora for the gift, and they’d learnt the dog was a female called Majestic Silverite Amarantha the Third on her breeding papers, but just Silvie day to day, and that mabari only ever imprinted on truly worthy individuals, Maia should feel honoured.

“So… we have a dog now,” Madanach said wearily, watching Maia cuddling her new friend and realising that like it or not, he was stuck with the wretched animal. “Oh good. I get to find my stuff chewed up and little gifts from its rear end everywhere. Great.”

“And it’s a diplomatic gift too,” Dorian said smugly, in the air of someone confident of not getting to step in mabari droppings in the morning. “Not only that, your daughter is in love with it. Which means you’ll literally never be able to get rid of it until the dog dies of old age, at which point she’ll be heartbroken. Good luck, Madanach.”

Madanach groaned louder, and then the door cracked open and Alistair peeped out.

“Has she gone?” Alistair whispered, in a tone so loud it was a good thing Anora had gone because she’d have had no problem hearing it. Stealth really wasn’t his strong point.

“She’s gone. You can come out now,” Dorian called cheerfully, and Alistair emerged, relieved to see Anora gone and Maia cuddling her new best friend.

“We’re keeping the dog??” Alistair gasped. “You mean Anora just let us keep one of her prize mabari??”

“The dog has apparently imprinted on Maia and sending it away now would apparently involve so much trauma on both sides that removing the wretched animal is impossible, so yes, we’re stuck with it,” Madanach sighed. “Gods, I hate dogs.”

Silence for a moment, and as Madanach took in Dorian staring at him, and Maia looking up and frowning, and Varric slowly shaking his head as if Madanach had made some horrific mistake, he realised perhaps he’d been a little bit hasty in saying that.

“But Daddy, Silvie’s nice!” Maia protested. “Silvie’s my friend!”

But that was nothing compared to Alistair’s reaction.

“Sorry, what?” Alistair whispered, confused and thrown. “Did you just say you didn’t like dogs?”

Madanach looked at Alistair’s shocked face and realised he’d screwed up beyond the telling of it, although Varric was almost certainly going to have a damn good try.

“Alistair, that’s not what...” Madanach began, heart racing, but Alistair wasn’t fooled and then Dorian managed to make things worse.

“He’s not keen on animals of the canine persuasion, probably thinks they’re unhygienic, noisy, destructive and that they smell,” Dorian explained, just in case anyone had had any doubts. “He’s only putting up with that one under sufferance. And you’re a Fereldan, which probably means you think the sun shines out of their backsides, don’t you.”

Madanach actually growled under his breath, turning furious eyes on Dorian, but it wasn’t as if he could deny any of this, was it?

Alistair was staring at him, looking utterly betrayed.

“What sort of monster hates dogs?” Alistair gasped, stepping away from him, and Madanach barely stopped the panic from overwhelming him.

“Alistair, wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -!”

Madanach reached out for him, but Alistair was glaring at him viciously, as if he really was some sort of monster.

“Don’t touch me,” Alistair snapped, and he turned and walked away, storming out of the hallway, heading for the staircase leading up to the Inquisitorial suite. Where Alistair presently had his own room next door to Maia’s. That was if he didn’t walk out completely. Well, Elisif would presumably be able to hang on to him. But Madanach might have just lost him.

Elisif returned, Josephine at her back, just in time to see the door slam shut, observe that Madanach and Maia were both present, that none of the servants or guards would have let the door slam like that, realise that that meant Alistair had just stormed off in a state of some distress, and then notice Maia was also looking distressed and was indeed starting to sob.

“Madanach, why is our baby crying,” Elisif said quietly, and Madanach almost started to wish he was still senile and therefore exempt from responsibility.

“Er,” was all he could say, and this time it was Varric who broke the news to her.

“Turns out your husband there’s a canine-phobe, made the mistake of telling a Fereldan man that, which means Alistair’s in his room packing his bags and Maia’s in tears because she’s scared her family’s fallen apart and her dad doesn’t like her new pet and she’s going to have to get rid of it,” Varric said, twirling his quill. “That sum the situation up, Sparkler?”

“Remarkable summation, Varric,” Dorian said, grinning. “I think you’ve covered everything. Apart from the fact the dog is even now trying to cosy up to Madanach.”

Sure enough, Silvie had broken away from Maia and made her way over to Madanach, whimpering as she lowered her face to the floor, staring forlornly up at him.

“What,” Madanach snapped, his day already going badly and the bloody dog _not helping._

Silvie’s whining intensified, and the damn dog was now nuzzling at his feet.

“Cut that _out!_ ” Madanach snapped at it, and to his surprise the dog obeyed, sinking back and staring pathetically up at him.

If this was a ferocious war dog, no wonder Ferelden had been conquered by Orlais.

“Madanach!” Elisif snapped from where she was comforting Maia. “We are keeping the dog, if you can’t be nice, be civil!”

Fine. If it made his daughter happy, and would stop Alistair running away. Madanach folded his arms and stared down the dog.

“All right. No one is throwing you out but you have to behave. That means no pissing or crapping inside, and no chewing other people’s things. And you do what you’re told, OK?”

Silvie immediately perked up, and scampered around, barking happily, and if he’d been kneeling down, he had a horrible feeling the wretched hound would have licked him.

“Yes, yes, I’ll take that as agreement, off you go and bother Maia and Elisif. I think they quite enjoy noise and exuberance. Go on, go, there’s a good dog.”

Silvie barked again, wagged her tail and bounced back to Maia, apparently now much happier about her place in the Inquisitorial household. 

“There you are, Daddy’s calmed down and will put up with Silvie,” Elisif soothed, stroking Maia’s hair, and Maia squealed as Silvie bounded up and licked her. “And you don’t need to worry about him being cross with you either. Does she, darling?”

“Not this time,” Madanach sighed. “Just don’t adopt any _more_ pets without asking?”

“No, Daddy,” Maia promised, looking suitably meek and penitent. Madanach supposed it would do. And then Maia managed to bring his mood down again.

“What about Alistair?” Maia cried. “He was upset! You have to talk to him, Mama! He called Daddy a monster.”

Maia’s puzzled indignance did at least comfort Madanach a little. His daughter still loved him, it seemed.

“He’s not a monster,” Maia whispered. “He’s Daddy. He helps fight monsters.”

“He does,” Elisif said gently, kissing Maia on the top of her head. “But Alistair was clearly cross with him and lost his temper, which does sometimes happen. So Daddy’s going to go and talk to him and say sorry and maybe Alistair will feel better then. Isn’t that right, husband.”

Elisif's smile was sweet but portended a world of trouble if Madanach didn’t at least try to make up with Alistair. So Madanach accepted the inevitable and went off to find him.

“Stendarr’s mercy, may we not have to deal with _this_ again,” Elisif sighed, rubbing her forehead. “All right Josie, get Leliana and Cullen, we need to talk. Now. Anora told me some interesting things about Ferelden’s future policies in certain areas, and we need to meet over it.”

“Can I come?” Maia said hopefully, attention diverted already.

“No darling, not to this one, it is a secret council, but Dorian is right here, not doing anything, and Varric is also here, not doing anything terribly important, so why don’t you two entertain Maia for me, hmm?”

Dorian tried to protest and Varric did try to argue that he was writing some vitally important work, but Elisif had gone before they could even finish talking.

“Well, Master Tethras, it looks like we are babysitting,” Dorian sighed.

“I’m not a baby!” Maia protested and Dorian had to admit that was true at least.

“I was done with this chapter anyway,” Varric sighed. “Writing this high-class elven party is kicking my ass. The sooner we get to the dramatic assassination attempt and Jarl Alayna’s flight from the Blue Palace, the better.”

“I live in the Blue Palace!” Maia chirped, eager for any reminder of home, and Varric had to hush her before anyone overheard.

“I know, Princess, but everyone over here isn’t supposed to know it’s real yet. That’s why I’m writing the story, so when everyone does find out, they already know about it and won’t panic. Soon enough, I’ll be writing the bit where she ends up in the Reach and meets the dreaded King in Rags, Maranil, the hated and feared Maleficar of Markarth.”

“Daddy!” Maia whispered, delighted. “But he’s not scary, he’s nice!”

“He was in prison, child, and by his own admission definitely did it, so clearly someone wasn’t convinced. I say, Varric, have you thought how you’re going to pretty up your male lead? The Chantry is going to ban a work containing a romance between a beautiful heroic queen fighting for her land and a blood mage criminal.”

“They’re in no position to ban anything,” Varric said, grinning. “And if they did, the publicity would be better than anything I could dream of. If I could dream, which I don’t.”

“Daddy’s not a criminal, Daddy’s a hero too,” Maia said firmly. “He’s Madanach Saoirseach and he freed the Reach. With Mama’s help.”

“That he did, but not so loud, you’ll spoil the ending for people,” Varric said, patting her on the back as he got up, clearing his writing things away. “Come on, let’s play with your dog. You could do a few laps of the courtyard on his back, that’ll cheer people up.”

And so Dorian and Varric watched Maia ride her mabari round Skyhold, and despite the political machinations going on at all levels, Maia at least was happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Madanach was decidedly less happy, in fact as he made the trek up the stairs to Alistair’s room, he was getting less pleased about this by the second.

_Come on, you can do this. Just apologise, it’ll be fine._

_What if it’s_ not _fine?? What if he leaves you?_

Well, he was probably going to be left anyway. Which actually made Madanach less inclined to humiliate himself for a lost cause if he was honest.

But if he didn’t do this, Elisif would be very angry with him, and he had no wish to face his wife’s wrath. So he took a deep breath and knocked on Alistair’s door.

“Alistair? Alistair, it’s me. Can we talk?”

Silence. Madanach hesitated then knocked again.

“Alistair? Are you in there?”

And finally a response.

“Is Maia with you?”

An odd question, but whatever.

“No, she’s with Elisif, why?”

“Then fuck right off, you dog-hating bastard, I don’t want to talk to you.”

The door actually shuddered as something heavy and metallic crashed into it, followed by the sound of Alistair throwing himself on to his bed.

Madanach had not expected that level of vehemence. He’d definitely not expected it to hurt as much as it did. Slowly he sank to the floor, head resting on the door, suddenly feeling very young and vulnerable and afraid and wanting his father to put his arms round him and make everything all right again.

_This is ridiculous, we can’t break up over this. I’m stuck with the dog anyway!_

“I told Maia she could keep the dog,” Madanach called out, hoping it might change his mind. “Silvie and I had a discussion, and we agreed I would accept her as part of the family as long as she refrained from befouling the keep and destroying my things. I can’t promise she and I will be friends but I suppose I can put up with her… hey?”

The door opened, causing Madanach to lose his balance and fall over, sprawling at Alistair’s feet. He looked like he’d been crying.

“Alistair?” Madanach whispered, staring up at him, wondering if Alistair had forgiven him or was just here to boot him out personally if he wouldn’t leave. 

“You talked to her?” Alistair said, frowning. “You talked to Silvie? And… she talked back?”

“Ye- Alistair, dogs don’t talk,” Madanach said wearily. “But she was looking very pitifully at me so I said she could stay as long as she observed the ground rules, and that seemed to cheer her up. She barked at me and started jumping around – is that a yes, you think?”

Something in Alistair’s face had softened just a little bit.

“Mabari understand what you tell them, and they recognise people and how they’re related,” Alistair said, voice that bit more gentle than it had been. “She knows you’re Maia’s dad. She was probably trying to make peace. And you took her up on it.”

“I have not one but two loved ones who would have hated me if I hadn’t,” Madanach said, shrugging, doing his best to hide the little burst of joy and relief he felt at Alistair apparently softening his stance just a bit and possibly not being about to leave him after all. “I know when to be reasonable.”

“You don’t like dogs but you’re willing to put up with one for me?” Alistair said, small smile returning to his face.

“She might grow on me?” Madanach said. Stranger things had happened, and he managed to put up with Cicero after all. And to his surprise, Alistair sniffled, rubbed at his face and then reached down, dragging Madanach to his feet and cuddling him for all he was worth.

Which was a bit weird considering Alistair had been furious at him a minute ago and Madanach started to worry about the poor boy.

“Thank you,” Alistair whispered. “I mean… thank you! I thought I’d ruined everything again. I’m… I mean, dogs are great and I love them, and I can’t get my head around people who don’t like animals that just want to make you happy… but I didn’t want to lose you either and I’m so glad you decided to be reasonable, because that means I don’t have to hate you, and I don’t want to hate you because you’ve always been so nice to me and...” Alistair took a deep breath and let him go, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away, face going a bit scarlet as he composed himself.

“Point is, I didn’t really want to leave you, I just didn’t know what else to do and I’m glad I didn’t have to,” he said quietly, and Madanach could feel the tension fading away as he realised Alistair had forgiven him.

“I’m glad too,” Madanach said, voice gentle, and while he wasn’t always at ease with expressing gentler emotions, that didn’t mean they weren’t there. “I promise not to mistreat my daughter’s dog. Particularly if it means you don’t leave me.”

Alistair looked up, face going even pinker, but he was smiling shyly at Madanach.

“If she and you are both prepared to make the effort, how can I not?” Alistair said, only sounding a little awkward. “Look, I walked out of one effort to save the world due to not being able to see the bigger picture and put my own feelings aside for the greater good. Told you I wasn’t doing it again. You don’t have to turn into the world’s biggest dog-lover or anything. Just, you know, treat them like people. Meet them halfway.”

“You know dogs aren’t actually people, right?” Madanach felt obliged to point out, and Alistair actually pouted. 

“Mabari are very intelligent!” Alistair said, rather petulantly. “They understand you when you speak to them! Just because they can’t talk back doesn’t mean they’re not like us.”

“Are they entitled to seats on the Landsmeet?” Madanach teased, and Alistair actually looked thoughtful.

“Not at the moment, but it’s only a matter of time before some noble dies without an heir and leaves their seat to their favourite mabari,” Alistair said, looking rather pleased at the idea. “Love to see what Anora would make of that.”

Now there was an image… and yet while Madanach hadn’t thought of Anora as a dog person, even Anora was still a Fereldan, and raised by the Fereldan equivalent of Ulfric Stormcloak from the sound of it, and she knew the importance of mabari to her people. They were clearly well-loved animals if the statues in Redcliffe had been any indication, and if everyone reacted like Alistair had… it didn’t bear thinking about. All the same, something had occurred to him. Why, if Alistair loved mabari so much, didn’t he have one? So he asked the question, and realised immediately he may have made a mistake, because Alistair’s face crumpled, raw grief there for the briefest of seconds before he composed himself.

“Alexius’s guards killed him,” Alistair said softly, vicious angry undertone revealing a grief he must never have really had a chance to process yet. “His name was Barkspawn. He was the smallest of his litter, the kennel-master didn’t think he was going to make it, so I took care of him and fed him and looked after him, and he survived and he adopted me. Nearly six years ago, that was. I’d been back in Redcliffe about two months at that point. Didn’t know what to do with myself, thought coming home might help but it hadn’t. I was seriously thinking about ending it all… but I looked at that little mabari pup and couldn’t just leave him. So I didn’t. And he saved my life. I wouldn't be here today without him. Every time I thought about ending it… he’d be there to remind me someone still loved me. He was holding the line against the Venatori with me and they just cut him down like a… like an animal, I suppose, but he was my dog...”

Madanach said nothing, just pulling Alistair into an embrace and holding him, not having realised that Alistair was not just a dog-lover, but grieving one who’d been his friend and reason for living for years, and who’d recently been murdered in front of him.

“I didn’t know,” Madanach murmured. “I’m so sorry, Alistair.”

Alistair squeezed him back, sniffling into his shoulder and holding him, and for a good few minutes they stayed like that, Madanach rubbing Alistair’s back as he cuddled him, not sure whether to be relieved Alistair wasn’t leaving him or worried about his mental state, because it was clear Alistair wasn’t all right, not remotely.

“Are you all right,” Madanach whispered and Alistair gave him a squeeze and let him go, wiping tears away.

“No… but thank you for being here,” Alistair said quietly. “I’m so glad I met you, you just always seem to know what I need. Thank you for putting up with me.”

“I’m not putting up with you, I like having you with me,” Madanach told him, taking Alistair’s hands in his. “I know you have issues, but so do I, just ask Elisif. Is it so hard to believe a fellow human might also care about you?”

“No but… everyone’s got their own lives and things to be getting on with,” Alistair said, staring down at where Madanach’s hands were still in his. “I don’t want to be a bother – I mean, you must have so many things to look after, I don’t need to be one of them.”

“Too late,” Madanach said softly, letting Alistair’s hands go and raising his own to cup Alistair’s face. “You already are, and I don’t want you to feel neglected or unhappy. I love you, Alistair. Wouldn’t have come to find you if I didn’t.”

Alistair’s eyes met his, a small smile on his face and then he leaned forward, his forehead resting on Madanach’s.

“I love you too,” Alistair whispered. “I mean, I’m terrified of the whole business, and you probably figured out I’ve never been with a man before, but I keep watching you and wanting to touch you and cuddle you, and… I want to be yours but I’m really nervous and I’m scared you’ll get tired of me and leave me for someone else who can actually have sex with you without freaking out.”

Madanach reached up and kissed Alistair gently on the lips.

“Alistair. Stop,” Madanach told him, trying not to smile but inwardly he was dancing at the realisation that Alistair did want him after all. “I’m not going to leave you. And… you don’t have to have sex with me. I would really quite like it if you did because you are a very attractive man, and I can definitely see myself getting pinned to the bed by you and liking it very very much, but you and I don’t have to do a thing in bed if you don’t want to. You know that, right?”

“I...” Alistair’s brow furrowed, he clearly not having known any such thing, and now he looked almost intrigued. “Wait. You’d want me to pin you to the bed. Not the other way around? That’s not like you, you’re nearly always taking charge of things.”

It was amazing how many people saw Madanach the terrifying warlord and never once looked any deeper and wondered why he kept picking at his lovers and getting under their skin and driving them up the wall. It was one of the surest ways of ensuring that when the consequences happened, the lover in question would be enjoying themselves.

Madanach grinned and nuzzled Alistair’s cheek.

“Dearest Alistair, if you’re feeling at all inclined, please fling me onto the nearest bed and do filthy things to me,” Madanach purred.

“I… what, really?” Alistair whispered, face going a vivid shade of scarlet. “You seriously want me to be the one on top? You weren’t joking around back in Haven?”

Madanach shook his head, wrapping his arms round Alistair’s neck and subtly moved so that Alistair couldn’t help but stare down at Madanach and be fully aware that the other man was a full four inches shorter than him.

“Perhaps I was teasing you a bit, but I told no lies,” he murmured, and it pleased him no end to hear the sharp inhalation from Alistair, who was still blushing fiercely. It did not, however, stop him from wrapping one arm round Madanach’s waist and placing his other one on the back of Madanach’s head and pulling him closer, finally reaching a decision and going for it. Alistair’s lips met his and Madanach closed his eyes, smiling as he realised Alistair had finally got to grips with what he wanted. Literally, because Alistair’s hand was reaching down to his backside, and it seemed someone had suddenly got some confidence from somewhere.

“I’m allowed?” Alistair whispered.

“More than allowed, I encourage it – mmph!” 

Alistair had kissed him again, kicked the door shut, picked him up and carried him to the bed, dropping him on it and climbing on top of him, and Madanach could already feel the tension draining out of him as his cock hardened, and gods damn, Alistair could pick him up and fling him about any time he liked, thank you very much.

“I’ve never been with a man before,” Alistair whispered, voice trembling from nerves. “I’m not really sure how this works or what I’m doing, but I want to… I’m just tired of seeing you all the time and being able to be with Elisif but not you. I want to… gods, I don’t know what I want. I’m just so tired of not being able to...”

Alistair really was adorable sometimes. Now if he could just go back to manhandling Madanach and having his way with him, that would be just fine with him.

“I’m not stopping you,” Madanach murmured. “You want me? Go ahead. Just treat me like you would a woman. Until you get below the belt, then just do what you’d do to yourself. Don’t worry about doing anything penetrative. You’re not ready, I don’t think.”

Alistair lifted his eyebrows, surprised. Then he smiled gently and kissed Madanach again.

“I’m sorry I called you a monster,” Alistair whispered. “You’re not. And if you can be patient with me, I can be patient with you.”

“I like that idea,” Madanach purred, bringing Alistair’s head lower to kiss him again. Alistair grinned and began unfastening Madanach’s clothes, confident enough with this bit at least. And while Alistair Theirin wasn’t exactly experienced, he knew enough to be getting on with. Madanach certainly wasn’t complaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madanach and Alistair weren't supposed to get together this early, but I don't really mind, they're cute.
> 
> Ferelden having a Protestant Reformation - had to happen at some point, eh? And now is as good a time as any, what with no Divine to stop them, and Loghain's daughter would definitely be interested. We'll see how this goes down - next chapter has the inevitable war table meeting, and the reaction of Elisif's lovers.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elisif has a lot to organise, and her council, divided on a topic as controversial as a separate Fereldan Chantry, aren't being as helpful as they could be. There's also the little matter of her consorts who, while having settled things between them, are now combining their efforts in all sorts of ways, not all of them pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times in this one - mostly off page but it's here. Mainly because if you had a much loved husband and a cute new boyfriend who'd started dating each other too and you all lived in close quarters, how long would it be before you joined them. Not long, I think. ;)

“So what did you need, Inquisitor?” Leliana asked, as the four of them gathered round the war table. The new war room could only be reached by a corridor where half the wall was still in ruins… but the view was nice, and Madanach reckoned the corridor would be insufferably dark without the hole letting the light in. So Elisif had left it as it was. The cold didn’t really bother her, Madanach just put down fire runes when he got chilly, and Delphine had once told her people were more honest and more to the point the colder it got. Which explained so much about Skyrim’s politics versus Cyrodiil’s, but as far as the Inquisition went, a chilly war room meant advisors who wouldn’t lie to her and wouldn’t talk for hours unless it was important.

So an unheated, barely furnished room consisting solely of the new war table it was then. No chairs. It had been General Tullius who’d told her that if she wanted meetings without arguing or discussion or point-proving, take the chairs away.

“Does this have something to do with your talks with Queen Anora?” Josephine said, frowning at her over the table. “Inquisitor, I do not wish to pry but if I am to effectively represent the Inquisition as Ambassador, I need to be present for these talks, or at least informed. We have already had one incident already, I...”

“And we dealt with it,” Elisif said calmly, raising a hand to quiet her ambassador. “Queen Anora’s real worry, it turns out, is her new lover Felix not being accepted by Ferelden. The mabari was a symptom of that – if she can get him a dog, it’ll go a long way towards persuading the other nobles that he’s a good and honourable man, despite being from Tevinter. Her anger was because Felix wasn’t taking it seriously and let the dog he was meant to be befriending get imprinted on Maia. Once he’d realised and persuaded her he was going to make a better effort, she was a lot happier and let us keep the dog… as a gift to cement an alliance.”

She couldn’t quite keep the smile off her face as she took in the surprise on their faces.

“Don’t look like that, I am not an ingenue,” Elisif sighed. “I have advisors back home, I was – am – a queen. And one of them ran the Empire’s cross-province trading company. She told me once that a disagreement is rarely about what everyone says it is on the surface, it’s nearly always really about something underneath. You just need to find out what it is and help resolve it. A lot of the other things tend to sort themselves out if you fix it.”

Surprise and approval, particularly from Josephine, and Elisif straightened up, smiling to herself. Good, they were taking her seriously. It was always a welcome surprise when that happened. The shadow of being just Elisif the Fair, known for her looks but not what she was capable of, never quite ever left her.

But in Thedas, they’d only ever seen the High Queen.

“Long story short, we’ve got an alliance with the Fereldan throne. Which may be better for them in the long-term, because Anora’s taking steps to be able to marry Felix.”

“Impossible,” Leliana said dismissively. “She will never get the approval of the Landsmeet, mabari or no, and the Chantry will not permit it.”

“The Chantry’s in no position to forbid it either,” Cullen pointed out. “If Anora leans hard enough on the Denerim Grand Cleric, she might perform the ceremony. Val Royeaux’s a long way from Denerim.”

“And anti-Orlesian sentiment is never far from the surface in Ferelden,” Josephine added. “Many of the older Fereldans remember Anora’s father as a hero who helped free them from tyranny. Even his betrayal of King Cailan has not dented his reputation as much as you might think. There are fierce arguments on both sides… but both sides will agree he was right to fight Orlais.”

“But most Fereldans are still good Andrastians,” Leliana said, clearly convinced this argument was going nowhere. “They don’t want to declare themselves apostate. They’re loyal to their Chantry.”

“There are those who think otherwise,” Cullen warned. “We were warned as Templars about grassroots movements protesting against Fereldans having to follow the edicts of an Orlesian Chantry that cared nothing for us. They never made much headway… but it’s rumoured there’s some in the nobility that support them, and even in the Templars, there were those who felt maybe these protestant Andrastians had a point. When you think about it, why should non-Orlesians have their moral code dictated to them from Val Royeaux? We can all read the Chant, can’t we work out the right thing to do from that? Do we really need a Divine?”

“Cullen!” Leliana cried, horrified. “You can’t be serious!”

“Can’t I?” Cullen asked, gesturing at the stained glass windows. “The Divine dies, everything falls apart because it was all resting on her. The reason protestant Andrastianism never caught on was because the protestant movements supported mage freedom, a lot of them. And because they were always arguing amongst themselves and could never agree on anything. Most people preferred the certainty of the Chantry traditions. But the Chantry’s in chaos, and when people need it most, it wasn’t there for them.” 

“Exactly,” Elisif said, surprised to have support from Cullen, who she’d have pegged as a Chantry loyalist. But then again, he’d left the Templars behind in disillusioned fury after Kirkwall. His faith might be strong but his loyalty to the Chantry was not an integral part of it, and in the current crisis, how many others were questioning the Chantry’s ability to truly carry out the Maker’s Will?

All three turned to her, Cullen surprised but pleased, Josephine anxious, and Leliana looking utterly betrayed.

“You’re not even Andrastian!” Leliana cried.

“No, but you put me in charge knowing that anyway,” Elisif replied, leaning forward, staring Leliana directly in the eye. “You, who said my daughter’s Thu’um and mine is a sign the Maker has not abandoned us, who gave thanks after Maia saved you from the storm and who I know damn well started spreading the Stormbreaker name for us both. I’ve been talking with Mother Giselle, and she told me how the Chant wasn’t even written down until decades after Andraste’s death, and the Chantry itself founded centuries later by the Emperor of Orlais, in a land riven by the Second Blight and in need of a unifying creed to rally around, stability in the centre of a storm. Maybe Kordillus Drakon was inspired by the Maker… or maybe he was a pious man trying to do the best he could to keep order in a world falling apart. Like we are today. The Chantry is a creature of humanity, Leliana, not the Maker. If it serves, then so be it, but if it does not, then it must change.”

Silence, and Leliana’s expression had barely changed… but she was the first to look away. Cullen was nodding grimly, clearly agreeing… and Josephine looked almost terrified.

“Inquisitor, if we declare for the end of the Chantry… Mother of Andraste, do you realise what that would mean?” Josephine breathed. “The Chantry is all that binds Thedas together! Despite its failings, many still bear it great love. We will not benefit from destroying it!”

“I never said we were going to disband the Chantry,” Elisif said, straightening up and allowing herself to smile again. “But it is going to change. Cullen, you were right about secret noble converts to the protestant cause in Ferelden. Except some of them are more senior than you can imagine. And that was what Queen Anora wanted to talk about. She’s taking Ferelden out of the Orlesian Chantry and setting up her own. There’s going to be a Fereldan Chantry. And she wanted Inquisition support.”

She looked around to see how they were taking this. Identical expressions of shock all round… then Cullen broke the silence with a broad grin and laughter.

“Good on her,” Cullen laughed, heedless of Leliana’s shocked face and Josephine silently whispering prayers to herself.

“Cullen!!!” Leliana cried. “This could be the Chantry’s death-blow! Or it’ll mean war! Anora’s going to have a rebellion on her hands!”

“Andraste have mercy, when the Orlesians have resolved their civil war, they will invade!” Josephine cried, appalled. “And the next Divine might well bless the endeavour! There could be an Exalted March!”

“And you want us committing Inquisition resources to support this,” Cullen said, no longer smiling. “Inquisitor, anything we commit to supporting Ferelden will be taken away from fighting Corypheus.”

It was a mercy Elisif was no longer the easily swayed young woman she’d once been. But something Madanach had murmured in her ear early in their marriage had made an impression and stuck with her ever since.

_Elisif, one thing I’ve noticed about you is that your instincts are often right on the money. You do actually know what you’re doing. But you’ve got this tendency to not believe you’re right, and let people talk you out of it. Quit doing that, my love. If you have your heart set on a thing, give the orders and let them figure out how to do it._

Argis hadn’t quite forgiven his father for that one. But Elisif was finding it useful advice now.

“We’re _supporting_ them,” Elisif said firmly. “Look, the Chantry is barely functioning. We are the ones everyone is looking to, our declarations have weight. Many believe I was sent by Andraste herself, with powers gifted by the Maker. So we’re doing this. When Anora makes her announcement, we announce our support, and that the Maker gifted us with consciences and reason so we could use them, not so that we could slavishly keep doing the same thing over and over again. If we had a Divine, it might be different, but Mother Giselle once told me that without one, Andrastians are left to their own consciences. Well, we don’t have a Divine. With the Chantry in disarray, who can blame Anora for wanting the security of a Chantry for her own nation without waiting for the Orlesians to get their act together.”

“I can!” Leliana gasped. “People are going to see this as opportunism, taking advantage of the Chantry while it can’t stop her! And we have Halamshiral coming up! If the announcement is made before then, our credibility will be mud if we back this.”

“Then you’d better all take steps to stop this happening, hadn’t you?” Elisif snapped, losing her patience. “Look, Anora’s in love for the first time since Cailan, and Felix will be good for her. She’s going ahead with this regardless, and I think she’s got a good chance of getting it past the Landsmeet. If it’s got this far that she’s asking us for help, she’s got allies, be they full-on protestants, faithful desperately in need of a Chantry that’s actually working and not too mired in politics in Val Royeaux to actually be of use in a crisis, or just people who really hate Orlais – and Ferelden’s full of those. Our job is to ensure this goes ahead successfully with a minimum of fuss and that means the Inquisition reassuring everyone in Ferelden the Maker still loves them no matter how they organise their Chantry… and ensuring people outside Ferelden don’t start thinking it’s the Maker’s will to return Ferelden to the true Chantry by force. I don’t think any of us want Ferelden ripped apart by violence, do we?”

Mutters of no, and lowered heads, and only Cullen met her eyes.

“No, Inquisitor, but we’ve not got the forces to pacify Ferelden and we can’t divert troops from fighting Corypheus. I hope you can work something out diplomatically,” Cullen sighed. “And you’re assuming half the Inquisition won’t up and leave over this.”

“They won’t,” Leliana said, shoulders falling as she admitted the truth about this at least. “They came here because of Elisif’s heroism. Most believe the Maker sent her to save us. They’re not going to desert her now, not when it’s not even her idea but Anora’s. Our Ferelden followers will want to support their queen, and the Chantry already declared them heretics once. Even our Orlesian followers mostly joined due to dissatisfaction with the Chantry. They don’t have any leaders to order them into war. Only… us.”

“Does that mean you’ll back this?” Elisif asked, sensing victory. Leliana grimaced but Elisif already knew the answer. Leliana had given in.

“I will back it,” Leliana sighed. “In all honesty, given the history, I cannot blame them. In any event, do not worry about Orlais. I have dirt on enough of their nobles to ensure any rabble-rousing is nipped in the bud, and as for whoever wins the civil war, if we can intervene at Halamshiral and tilt the balance of power, the victor might consider letting this one go. I must warn you, Celene will be easier to persuade than Gaspard.”

“Perhaps, but Celene was challenged for her throne because the chevaliers believed her weak and not military-minded enough,” Josephine pointed out. “She might feel obliged to act. She already had alienages purged when her opponents claimed she was too liberal towards elves and she needed to protect her reputation. Whereas Gaspard is already known to be a great soldier. He can afford to appear magnanimous.”

“Orlais will have more to worry about than the Fereldans if Corypheus brings his army of demons down on their heads,” Elisif said crisply. “We’re here to save the world. Everything else is secondary. But for that we need allies, and for us to win allies, we have to prove Inquisition support is worth something. Josephine, draft a statement of support for the Fereldan Chantry, and issue an immediate proclamation of Inquisition friendship with Ferelden – run it by Anora before she leaves, we can make an announcement at Skyhold together. Leliana, step up intelligence efforts in Ferelden, I need to know which nobles are sympathetic to Anora’s idea and which ones likely to object.”

“Do you wish them taken care of?” Leliana asked, face neutral, hood shadowing her features, and it was only Elisif’s stare that made her flinch.

“No!” Elisif cried. “Just… just give Josephine the names. And send a copy to Anora too. She can probably make better use of them than we can. Oh, and Cullen? Anyone Leliana identifies as opposed and completely unpersuadable, arrange for Inquisition troops to carry out training and peacekeeping activities near their estates. They’ll get the message.”

All three of them assented, and Elisif watched them go, feeling relieved that that had gone as well as it had. At least Leliana had given in over it. Well, probably. All the same, maybe it was worth having a quiet word with Cicero. Maybe have someone spy on the spymaster.

So it was Elisif made her way out of Skyhold’s keep in search of Maia, who had introduced Silvie to her friends and now all three of them were playing with her. Some sort of fetch game if Elisif was any judge. But Maia wasn’t actually her immediate priority, not just yet. Her main concern was presently Varric, watching all of this from Skyhold’s steps while he fussed with his notes.

“Having fun?” Elisif teased as he frowned at the paper before him.

“No, this bit is boring me half to death,” Varric sighed. “I do better with people, with interpersonal relationships, intrigue, one on one struggles. This Battle of Whiterun segment is boring me to tears, are you sure I can’t skip it?”

“Varric, it’s important,” Elisif sighed. “It’s the bit where we find out the previously neutral and uncommitted Jarl of the city has finally sided with the Legion as a direct result of m- er, Jarl Alayna becoming Dragonborn. And you need to demonstrate Alayna’s actually capable of leading troops _and_ persuading the Companions that helping the war effort is the right thing to do. Because that city will be ripped apart and on fire if Ulfric gets inside. Also how else does she get Aela accompanying her again? And they’re not going to get past that Forsworn camp without her. Or the dragon. Or Arnbjorn.”

“Fine, fine, I will write the battle scene in,” Varric sighed. “But don’t expect it to be detailed. Honestly, this is not the battle scene that matters. Really, I just want to get it over with and on to the good bits. You know, where Morio Sicarius joins the party, and Alayna ends up in the dangerous prison, trapped alone with all those frightening witchmen and their terrifying leader.”

“Well, sooner you write the battle scene, the sooner you can get to the good bits,” Elisif told him. “Listen, would delighted letters from readers help? Because you’ve got enough material for eight, nine, maybe ten instalments now. I think you should publish. Before the Chantry gets its act together and bans it for all the rank heresy.”

Varric hadn’t really mentioned the whole eight and one gods a lot in _Rise of the Dragonborn_ , but it was difficult to deny that the whole reason for the Stormcloak rebellion was that the Empire could no longer worship God Number Nine. So in it went, along with a disclaimer at the front that this was a fictional world and any religious traditions contained inside were foreign ones and not intended as a real religious path. Despite the fact Akatosh was consistently referred to as Akatosh the Maker throughout.

“That’s gonna be controversial,” Varric warned her. “You’ll be officially saying Tamriel exists. If they figure out ‘Alayna’ is really you, they’ll know Tamriel’s real.”

“I’m saying nothing of the sort,” Elisif said calmly. “You’re saying Tamriel’s fictional and based on elven and Avvar stories. Alayna’s blonde, for goodness sake. And you’ve knocked ten years off Maranil’s age and darkened his skin. Most of the nobles who’ll be buying this won’t have contact with the mages nor will they be listening to their elven servants.”

“But the Inquisition’s people might figure it out and it’ll be only a matter of time before it spreads,” Varric said, turning to look at her. “You ready for that? I mean, _really_ ready? I don’t think you are.”

“Of course not, no one’s ever really ready for something like this!” Elisif hissed. “But they will know about us for real when the East Empire’s traders arrive, or diplomatic envoys or Legion garrisons. I want the groundwork laid, Varric. So start publishing now, so they get used to thinking of us as people and not the scary Dragon Empire over the sea in the black and red who want to destroy all Thedas holds dear.”

Varric shrugged and nodded, seeming to be OK with that one at least.

“Well, that’s something I can get behind,” Varric said. “All right, Blue-eyes. I’ll publish your totally fictional, totally not your life story memoirs. I just hope this doesn’t blow up in our faces.”

Elisif thanked Varric and went to retrieve Maia. Now that had been a day and a half. But with any luck the groundwork for Imperial prosperity had been laid in Thedas today. A Fereldan Chantry with an ally of the Empire running it would be a lot easier to theologically manipulate to co-exist with the Imperial Cult of the Eight than an Orlesian one. And if this story of Varric’s proved popular, that might be the public relations done as well. You could never tell how these things turned out of course. But Elisif had a feeling the politics were definitely edging her way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

No sign of either of her partners, and tapping into the empathy bond revealed Madanach was sleepy but happy, seemingly radiating in it in fact. Which meant they’d patched things up, she hoped. So she had dinner with just Maia, told her Daddy and Alistair were still talking things over but they’d be friends again by morning, then put her to bed, told her a story, kissed her daughter goodnight, kissed her daughter’s new dog goodnight, and went to see what her men were getting up to.

A knock on Alistair's door and it was Alistair who called back to her.

“Eh? What? Who is it?”

“Me,” Elisif called, and the little skip of happiness on the empathy bond told her all she needed to know. He wasn’t alone. “Is my husband in there with you?”

“Er...” 

Alistair truly was adorable when he was embarrassed. Fortunately for him, Madanach appeared to be handling things rather better.

“Come in, love.” One spell later, and the door swung open by itself, revealing various items of clothing that had last been seen on either Madanach (the recently commissioned coat modelled on Dragon Priest robes as visualised by an Orlesian tailor who’d never laid eyes on the original) or Alistair (trim fur-lined doublet and trousers as worn by many a Fereldan bann or arl) scattered carelessly across the floor, and in the bed, her probably-naked husband lying back on the pillows of Alistair’s bed, looking supremely satisfied with himself. And next to him, Alistair, also not dressed, lying alongside him, propping himself up on one elbow and looking extremely nervous.

“This?” Alistair said nervously, gesturing at the scene. “This… is not what it looks like.”

“Really,” Elisif said, kicking some silk underthings out of the way (Madanach’s). “Because it looks like you just had sex with my husband.” 

“I… um… all right, this is exactly what it looks like,” Alistair admitted. “But! But. We, er, um… Madanach, help me out here.”

Madanach just smiled, gestured with his hand and the door closed behind her. Which unnerved her a bit, but rather that than half the keep listening in, or worse, Maia.

“He’s got the makings of an excellent top, my love,” Madanach purred lazily, heavy-lidded eyes half-closed. “And do you know, he’s still not come yet. You should come here and help him out with that.”

“Oh, there’s no need to, I’m quite happy to take care of it later – mmmph!”

Elisif had reached the bed by this point, hand reaching out to cup the back of Alistair’s head as her lips met his, and Alistair’s protests dissolved into low moans as he pulled her on top of him, Madanach carefully making way until she was sandwiched in between them.

“I’ve… I’ve never done anything like this before,” Alistair whispered, stroking Elisif’s hair. “I mean, it’s rare enough I get one person in my bed, never mind two, and you’re beautiful, both of you, look at you...”

Elisif wasn’t exactly used to this sort of thing either.

“I’ve only ever slept with three men in my life, and wasn’t expecting two of them to be at the same time,” Elisif admitted. “I don’t really know how this is going to work.”

“Have sex with Alistair,” Madanach growled in her ear, spooning behind her, one hand on her stomach and already snaking down. “Right now, right here, I want to watch.”

Elisif gasped as his hand reached her groin, and she had a sudden feeling the situation had just slid out of her control. Slowly she looked up at Alistair, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

“We don’t have to,” Alistair whispered, stroking her cheek. “This is my bedroom, and all you have to do is say the word, and I can stop his magic and kick him out and we can just cuddle.”

Which was very sweet of him, but Madanach had also removed his hand and was now just stroking her hair.

“We can just cuddle,” Madanach murmured. Elisif felt her nerves start to relax as she remembered Madanach was extremely good at reading her reactions and had never gone over the line in bed yet, and that Alistair was one of the most gentle human beings she’d ever met.

So she lifted her lips to Alistair’s and reached behind to bring Madanach’s head down to her shoulder and as her lovers reached out for her, Elisif decided that all in all, today couldn’t have gone any better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Afterwards was followed by the realisation that Alistair’s bed comfortably slept two, but not three, and there followed a swift gathering of clothes and a breathless, giggling relocation to the Inquisitorial bedchamber, a tastefully outfitted tower apartment with Seraultine glass windows dominating three walls, and a large gilded Orlesian bed dominating the room itself. Clothes were dumped in a heap on the velvet chaise longue, and the three of them were soon snuggled under the Orlesian silk sheets, with layers of thick velvet to keep the cold off.

“I’m going to hell,” Alistair whispered, just thankful that the darkness hid his blushes. “I am so going to hell! That… that has _got_ to be illegal. Something that good has to be.”

“All acts of love and pleasure are Her rituals,” Madanach intoned, arms around both of them as he kissed first Elisif’s cheek then Alistair’s, quoting from Dibella’s prayerbook. “Dibella will make room for us, don’t worry, cariad.”

“I cannot get used to your gods just being OK with this sort of thing,” Alistair whispered. “Back in the Templars, they used to beat us just for touching ourselves!”

Winces from both of them.

“That’s horrible,” Elisif whispered, and Alistair felt Madanach stroking his hair.

“It’s all right,” Alistair said quietly. “It was twenty years ago nearly. It was part of Templar discipline, to control your urges. I think I found it helpful? Frustrating. But helpful. Say, maybe I should incorporate some of it into yours!”

“No!” Elisif cried, alarmed, and Madanach’s eyes narrowed.

“Alistair, I am not comfortable with Elisif learning Templar powers as it is, and only knowing it’s related to the Thu’um she already has and that it might be useful if Maia’s powers get out of hand is what’s stopped me objecting too much,” Madanach growled. “Do you mind not interfering with her sex life??”

“I’m _part_ of her sex life,” Alistair pouted. “And yours! But… I promise. Elisif’s training’s not going too badly anyway. She’s starting to get the hang of it. Her main problem is that she’s _too impatient._ ”

Alistair stared pointedly at Elisif, and if she’d thought Madanach might show any sympathy, she was wrong. He was already grinning and when she turned to face him, he actually started to laugh.

“Stop it!” Elisif cried, smacking at his arm. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Madanach laughed even harder, and Elisif growled at him, hoping that’d shut him up, except it didn’t because now Alistair was snickering too.

“The pair of you are impossible!” Elisif cried, turning over and eventually lying down on her front because it was the only way she could turn her back on them both.

“I think we annoyed her,” she heard Madanach whisper, sounding as if he was about to start laughing again.

“Oops,” Alistair whispered back, still giggling. Elisif growled, Thu’um starting to lace itself into the sound, and the pair of them were this close to getting Shouted out of bed and kicked out for the night… except things had gone quiet and then Madanach had snuggled up to her left and was gently kissing her cheek, while Alistair was cuddling on the other side, kissing her shoulder, both appearing at least a bit penitent.

“Love you,” Madanach murmured.

“You’re really pretty!” Alistair added, as if she wasn’t aware of that already, but points for trying.

“And you’re very irritating,” Elisif muttered, but she did relent and turn around, glaring at them both. This, this was the downside of two of them. Twice the hassle.

Both were at least trying to look apologetic, and Elisif sighed and put arms around them both, letting them snuggle with her.

“So, we acquired a dog, you managed to nearly lose and then gain a boyfriend, and Queen Anora wants an alliance with the Inquisition,” Elisif said, fingers enjoying the way Alistair’s cropped hair felt. She’d never been with anyone with short hair before. It felt odd but nice. Fuzzy. 

“She wants something,” Alistair said sleepily. “Or thinks you can do something for her. She’s too good at politics to just offer to be your friend out of the goodness of her heart.”

“She wants an alliance with Tamriel as well,” Elisif admitted and that got both men’s attention.

“She what?” Madanach snapped. “You mean, she knows??? Fucking hell. Felix must have told her. Gods dammit. What did you say?”

“I said yes, of course,” Elisif said, slightly irritated. “Look, we’re going to need to interact diplomatically with Thedosian nations, allies are useful. Ferelden is also useful as a base to access the rest of South Thedas – we’ve got Ferelden itself, Orzammar, the Orlesian heartlands just over the Frostbacks, Nevarra, Val Royeaux and the Free Marches within easy sea travel, it’s something worth having – Alistair? Are you all right?”

He was already frowning and she’d not even told him about the forthcoming Protestant Revolution yet.

“The way you talk about it as if it’s just another business deal,” Alistair said quietly. “Just some other nation for you to trade with or declare war on. This is my home, Elisif!”

Elisif hadn’t quite been prepared for the way that made her feel, and a glance at Madanach revealed he was feeling similarly chastened. But it wasn’t as if Ferelden being Alistair’s home hadn’t crossed her mind at the time. Really, it was Madanach she’d been trying to convince. She’d thought Alistair would be all over it.

“I know, darling,” Elisif said gently, in the tone of voice she normally used to reassure Maia, fingers still ruffling the back of his head. “That’s what swayed me. I don’t want to go to war with Ferelden! You’d never forgive me.”

Right choice of words. Alistair’s eyes had widened as he gazed up at her, smile starting to spread over his ridiculously handsome face.

“What, really? You’d commit your entire empire to an alliance with Ferelden… because of me?”

“Yes,” Elisif told him, stroking his cheek. “Really.”

Alistair made a little noise in the back of his throat before pulling her in for a hug, seeming genuinely moved by the whole thing. Which, given that not declaring war on one’s lover’s homeland seemed more like a basic courtesy rather than a romantic gift, surprised her. But then again, Alistair clearly wasn’t used to people caring about what he might want.

“That’s… I don’t know what to say,” Alistair whispered. “Thank you!”

“You’ve not heard the asking price yet,” Madanach growled. “Why is Anora so keen to court Tamriel? What’s she after?”

“Protection,” Elisif said quietly, wondering how to explain this. “Anora’s contemplating something dangerous. Worth it, I think, but dangerous. Certainly controversial. She wants backup and protection in case Orlais or the Chantry or both decide to invade.”

“And she wants the Inquisition or Tamriel or both to help out,” Madanach murmured. “Expecting Inquisition people or Tamriel’s legionnaires to die in place of Fereldans. How nice of her. What exactly is she planning that’s going to prompt an Exalted March? From a Chantry that has no Templars to join said March and no Divine to order one?”

“That’s why she wants to do it now, but the Chantry will elect a Divine at some point and she’ll be able to raise an army from every noble family in Thedas who’s got ambitious young warriors seeking to make a name for themselves,” Elisif sighed. “They tell me anyone who dies in the Maker’s service is guaranteed a place by his side, they’ll fight like Nords.”

“And let me guess, you want me to come up with something to help Ferelden so our side can fight like Reachmen,” Madanach sighed wearily. “Elisif, anything I come up with will probably have Ferelden deciding the Exalted March was justified in the first place. I’m not merciful to my enemies, you know that!”

“You didn’t completely raze Windhelm and you didn’t kill me or hurt me in Cidhna Mine, you’re not all bad,” Elisif told him, squeezing his hand as he spooned behind her, smiling as he growled then kissed her neck.

Alistair had been watching this with a smile on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His lovers being affectionate didn’t change the fact that the queen of his country was up to something that might endanger them all.

“So what is Anora up to? She told you, right?” Alistair said, which only irritated Madanach a little bit.

“Course she did, Elisif’s not going to sign an alliance like that without details, right? Right?”

The hint of uncertainty in Madanach’s voice didn’t help Elisif’s mood any either.

“Of course Anora told me,” Elisif snapped. “Look, I suppose you both probably should know. Anora’s decided to break away from the Orlesian Chantry. She says it’s because she wants to marry Felix and the Orlesian Chantry would never let her. So she’s been talking with various nobles who don’t like Orlesians, and various Fereldan clerics who presumably would quite like being the leaders of the Fereldan Chantry rather than the despised backwater cousins of the Orlesian Chantry and she’s decided now’s as good a time as any, seeing as Orlais’s too distracted to do anything and the Chantry incapable. And she wants Inquisition backing.”

“Oh gods,” was all Madanach could say, leaning back on the pillows and rubbing his head. “And you’ve said yes to this, haven’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Elisif said, confused at the lack of enthusiasm. “Honestly, Madanach, I thought you’d be pleased. You hate the Chantry!”

“I know, but this isn’t our problem,” Madanach sighed. “Anora wants to paint a target on her back, let her. We shouldn’t be getting involved!”

“Too late for that, and we can’t just ignore this!” Elisif cried. “Anora’s got her heart set on this! She really loves Felix!”

“It’s got nothing to do with Felix,” Alistair said quietly, viciously. “All she’d need to do if it was just him would be to get him baptised into the Orlesian Chantry. He wouldn’t be able to go home again, but his father’s disgraced, his mother’s dead, Dorian’s out here too and if he really loves Anora he wouldn’t care about that. And he’s not a mage, he doesn’t need to worry about Circles either. This has nothing to do with him and everything to do with being able to do what her father never managed – getting Orlais out of Ferelden for good. Loghain was planning just that for his takeover – it was why he’d been able to seduce rebels in the Circle with promises of freedom for mages if they backed him. After the Blight the cause fell out of the limelight but trust Anora never to have given up on it. Elisif, you can’t be serious, this will rip the country apart.”

She should have known Alistair wouldn’t let a little thing like deconversion stop him from having an opinion on the Chantry.

“See, he agrees with me!” Madanach said smugly, which was odd because Elisif seemed to recall someone arguing strenuously for non-intervention a minute ago.

“Hush,” Elisif said firmly at her husband, before turning her attention back to Alistair, who did after all have a bigger stake in the matter. “Alistair, you’re not Andrastian any more, don’t tell me you’re objecting on principle.”

“I’m not,” Alistair said quietly. “I don’t like the idea, it’s true, but it’s not out of any love for the Chantry. It’s just if we’re going to ditch it, I’d rather Ferelden didn’t just have the same thing all over again except with a Fereldan Divine instead.”

“They aren’t having one, Anora’s going to be Head of the Chantry although I think it’s more of a titular role – she was thinking some sort of ruling body to handle the day-to-day running. A council of clerics and some sort of elected body of lay people like the Landsmeet to debate policy.”

“Maker’s Breath,” Alistair groaned, planting his head face-first into the pillows. “It really is a Mac Tir power grab. Buggering hell, maybe I should have taken the throne after all.”

“Alistair, you detest meetings, you run away from anything resembling making an important decision and your eyes glaze over three lines in to important documents,” Madanach sighed. “You would have hated it.”

“Yes, but at least I wouldn’t be doing this!” Alistair cried. “It’s going to lead to _another_ civil war! Elisif, you have to stop her.”

Elisif reached out and ran a hand down his back, planting a kiss on his shoulder.

“Do you trust me?” she whispered. Alistair hesitated and looked up, brows knotting together, and he was clearly unsure how to answer this.

“I think so,” he said quietly. “I’d like to, at least. I… did say I’d be loyal and not storm out in a huff, but you’re risking a lot, Elisif. This is an entire country’s safety on the line, and this has nothing to do with stopping Corypheus. Unless… unless Anora’s working for him and knew this was coming. Oh gods, that’s it, isn’t it! Anora’s in league with the Venatori, isn’t she??”

“Mara’s mercy, Alistair,” Elisif sighed, turning to Madanach, hoping he’d help. “I don’t think Anora’s in league with Corypheus, she wouldn’t have helped Teagan get his seat back if she was.”

“Alistair bion, I can believe Anora would take advantage of an opportunity to secede from the Chantry if it came along, but not that she’d go to those lengths,” Madanach said fondly. “Corypheus’s forces in that dark future annihilated Fereldan troops too, according to my notes. Anora’s not working with him, but we could have Leliana check. I suspect she has people in Denerim.”

“She’ll have more, I’ve got her sounding out opposition to Anora’s plan,” Elisif admitted. “Wouldn’t hurt to have her make sure there’s no Venatori influence going on in Denerim too.”

“You told your council?? Already? And Leliana’s OK with this?” Alistair didn’t for a second believe that Sister Nightingale of the Chantry would just support a plan for Fereldan succession.

“Not exactly but she’s agreed to support it,” Elisif told him and if Alistair looked a bit sceptical she didn’t entirely blame him. She was surprised Leliana had given in too. “She doesn’t want civil war in Ferelden either and Anora has her heart set on it. So… we’re going to try and make this work. If that means Inquisition troops on manoeuvres near the estates of nobles violently opposed to it, so be it. But I’m hoping it won’t be necessary. In the absence of a Divine, we’re the ones Thedas is looking to for guidance and leadership. We tell them that without a Divine to provide guidance, Anora’s within her rights to take steps to provide for the spiritual wellbeing of her people, that will go a long way.”

“You hope,” Alistair said sceptically, and Elisif wasn’t sure how to respond… but Madanach reached round and placed a hand on Alistair’s shoulder.

“Alistair bion, Elisif declared for free mages, and so far no one’s called us on it. We’ve got influence. People listen to us… well, they listen to her anyway. She’s got a way with people. They turn up ready to lynch her and it ends with them in tears, sobbing in her arms and thanking her for being so kind and merciful and did she need anything doing?”

“Is that how you and she got together,” Alistair said, cheeky grin emerging, and Madanach’s smile abruptly shifted to a steely glare.

“No,” Madanach growled. “Elisif, stop giggling.”

“I don’t think he was intending to lynch me,” Elisif said, grinning. “You might be in trouble if you keep saying things like that to him though.”

“That a promise?” Alistair said, anticipatory smile spreading across his face. “I’ll hold him to that.”

Madanach muttered something under his breath and Alistair reached out and took his hand, raising it to his lips.

“All right, I trust you both,” Alistair said, seriousness returning. “It’s not like I’ve really got anyone to blame but me for not doing my duty to Ferelden ten years ago. And… this new Chantry. Do you think we can nudge it in the direction of free mages and treating elves like people and respecting non-Andrastians?”

“I think we can more than manage that,” Elisif promised, and Alistair promptly beamed, leaning in to kiss her as he remembered that while Elisif’s job often meant hard decisions and being a bit conniving and occasionally resorting to underhand means, she and he were essentially on the same page for most things, and that she’d do the right thing most of the time, and most of the time he’d agree with her. And Elisif recalled that while Alistair and Madanach could drive her up the wall individually without really trying, and were worse when they combined their efforts, she really didn’t want either to go. She needed Madanach’s ingenious pragmatism and Alistair’s principled bravery, and indeed was starting to wonder how she’d managed without them.

Never mind. She had them now, and they had her back. All would be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because let's face it, Leliana was never going to like the idea of a Chantry schism, Josephine's going to be horrified by anything that might cause a war, and Cullen... is a Fereldan who lost faith in the Chantry but never Andraste, and might well sympathise. It's a good thing they've got an Inquisitor to shout at them, isn't it?
> 
> Varric is writing his own version of Wolf Queen Awakens but with certain names and appearances changed. His frustrations with it echo my own!
> 
> Next up is Alexius's trial and then the last Skyhold diversion before the action restarts. I'll be drawing on the main story in the TES Legends game, sort of. Someone was up to something during the war that they would REALLY prefer not to come to light.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Alexius's trial, and while most of the consequences are predictable, the reconciliation of two old rivals was not. Meanwhile, away from the diplomatic festivities, a normally confident elf is suffering a bit, both from all the humans and from one Qunari whose intentions she doesn't know if she should welcome or not. But what she does have is the comfort and affection of an old friend - one she'd not realised she had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liriel's backstory is the main quest of the TES Legends game, in which the Forgotten Hero gets caught up in the Great War after escaping from some Boethiah worshippers, and ends up uncovering a plot by the Aldmeri Dominion to sacrifice everyone in the Imperial City and open the Oblivion Gates, and that their general, Lord Naarifin is using the Orb of Vaermina to anticipate the Empire's moves, and you get to go on an infiltration mission into the city to destroy the Orb so the Empire stands a chance of getting their capital back. In this universe, that was Liriel, who was an Aldmeri soldier alone after a patrol went wrong and got captured by the cultists, and realised her homeland had gone mad. To this day, virtually no one knows she committed treason and she'd like to keep it that way. Cicero does not appear in the TES Legends main story, but the backstory I have for him would have him as a 14 year old living in the Imperial City with his mother having died in the occupation. No reason he wouldn't have been hiding in the catacombs and met Liriel, and Liriel and crew had neither the heart to silence him nor did they want to leave him behind for the Dominion to interrogate. So here he is, having known Liriel from before, and he remembers her, but she so far hasn't realised this is the same person.
> 
> Also, Liriel is asexual. She's not realised it yet, but being a 140 year old Altmer who has never met anyone she fancied in all that time is not actually the norm...

Next day was a day of formalities like no other, starting with Alexius’s trial.

Elisif had expected bombast and ranting about the Venatori. But the man they threw at her feet in the Great Hall was not the evil mastermind she remembered. He was quieter, gaunter, pale, dressed in prisoner’s sacking, hands shackled and a couple of Inquisition Templars standing menacingly over him.

“I’d expected more from you,” Elisif noted, aware of the Hall filling up with Inquisition people and Anora’s retinue both, all keen to see the villainous magister get his come-uppance. In particular, Madanach was off to one side, Alistair with him, and Maia standing next to him, glaring furiously at Alexius with all the fury a five year old princess could muster. And with Alistair, his mother, Grand Enchanter Fiona, her eyes narrow and her expression cold. She’d heard too many tales from Maia about what the original timeline had been like to forgive Alexius easily for taking all that from her. She was far from the only one, which was why there’d been initial booing and hissing and now silence as they watched their Inquisitor interrogate the humbled magister. The only ones not hoping for blood were the two Tevinters, Felix watching his father with sad eyes and Dorian with him, looking on with no hope of mercy but nevertheless not wanting this to end badly.

Elisif wasn’t sure there was any other way, but she’d do her best.

Alexius had his head bowed and his shoulders hunched, barely resisting.

“What would be the point, Herald?” Alexius sighed. “You won, there is no point in prolonging this charade. If you wanted the entertainment of a cackling magister denouncing you all, you are to be disappointed. I couldn’t save my son, one of your people managed it, and the price was something I could never have asked of him. I failed the Elder One and now must face the consequences. Judge me then, Herald. I do not ask for mercy.”

“Dad,” Felix whispered, looking heartbroken, and Alexius actually flinched away, not meeting his son’s eyes. Elisif felt his pain, although she could not let that distract her. Fortunately, Josephine was at hand to remind them all why they were here.

“Inquisitor, allow me to present Gereon Alexius, former magister of Tevinter. Tevinter has disowned his actions, stripped him of rank and exiled him, and Queen Anora of Ferelden has decided that her involvement with his son means she can no longer judge him effectively. And so the decision falls to you. The formal charges are apostasy, use of dangerous and harmful magic, imprisonment of innocents, unseating an Arl from his home, and conspiring to aid the Venatori. There is also the little matter of your own grievances against him, as he attempted to murder you, was responsible for the suffering you experienced in that reality the spell sent you to, took your husband prisoner and forced your five year old daughter to flee for her life.”

“I wouldn’t have harmed the girl!” Alexius protested. “I just needed to investigate her magic and contain her, that’s all!”

“Corypheus would have harmed her!” Alistair snapped. “He’d have found out what her blood can do and used it! Hers was never tainted by the Joining like mine is!”

Elisif had heard the tale of how the Venatori had used Maric Theirin’s blood to channel its stolen power, and she couldn’t even think about Maia suffering that fate. Her vision blurred and for a moment she wavered between crying out she couldn’t do this, she was hardly a neutral party either, and just ordering him executed now.

But the thought of Dorian’s sad face and the hope he’d expressed to her back in Haven that they showed him mercy wouldn’t leave her, and if she abdicated responsibility for this, she’d look weak. She had to go through with this.

“Your actions nearly destroyed the world, Alexius,” Elisif said quietly, as she massaged her forehead. “I saw the consequences, I saw what would happen! I know you wanted to find a way to save Felix from his illness, but signing up with the Venatori?? You can’t just damn the world to save your family!”

Even if she’d tried a dangerous ritual to try and save Madanach… but while that had been risky, it wasn’t anything like signing up with fanatics who clearly meant nothing good. All the same, she did know what it was like to see a loved one dying before her eyes and be helpless to stop it. In another time and place, maybe it would have been her facing judgement.

_Never. I’d have turned once it became obvious what I’d signed up for._

Perhaps. Easy to say that now. Madanach was fine, and she wasn’t the one on trial.

“The world is already damned, Inquisitor,” Alexius said, not bragging or threatening, just sounding as if he was stating a fact, and not even one he approved of. “Corypheus will destroy you and everything you love. You can’t stop him. No one can. It’s too late, Herald.”

“Not yet,” Elisif said, recalling the file they had on Corypheus’s anticipated next moves, a file composed of Madanach’s notes from the future and things Leliana had managed to find out as a result. Notes they’d never have had were it not for Alexius. How ironic. “It won’t be too late until we run out of options and give in. Well I have plenty of options left and I don’t intend to give up. I think your son’s a little disappointed to hear you have.”

That did get to him, emotion finally flaring up once more as he glared furiously at her.

“Leave my son out of this!” Alexius snapped. “Judge me as you will, but my relationship with him is none of your business!”

Elisif said nothing, just glancing back at Felix and Dorian. Felix was watching his father, anguish all over his face, one hand squeezing Anora’s. Dorian, however, Dorian’s eyes were firmly on her, and she’d not been prepared for the emotion on his face. Despite the falling out, it was clear Dorian still had feelings for Alexius. 

Damn it. This was going to be harder than she’d thought.

“It’s what prompted you to start researching ways to turn back time itself to save him, I know that much,” Elisif said, trying to think what to do with him. Given the right motivation, he could be useful. With Templars around to keep an eye on him, and possibly Madanach or Vivienne or someone senior in the mages to supervise him, of course. “You’re a talented mage, I’ll give you that. The Inquisition could use that.”

“MAMA!” And that was her own child, apparently outraged at the thought of Alexius getting off so lightly. “You can’t let him go! He’s a bad man! He needs to go to prison! Or… or be ecksicuted!”

Mara’s mercy. Apparently Maia held grudges like her father. Well, she couldn’t really blame her for this one, the whole episode had been very traumatic for her.

“Maia, what have I told you about interrupting while I’m holding court?” Elisif sighed, lapsing into Tamrielic so as to perhaps remind Maia that the same rules applied here as in Solitude.

Maia did at least hesitate… but this was important to her, and Maia rarely backed down on important matters until someone gave her an answer.

“He made Daddy forget!” Maia cried, staying in Thedosian for everyone else’s benefit. Clever. A bit too clever, where had her daughter picked up the ability to effortlessly manipulate an entire room’s emotions?

Elisif, on seeing Madanach was grinning proudly and patting Maia’s shoulder, decided to blame him for that one, conveniently forgetting all the times her daughter had seen her charming visitors to her side. And then Alistair decided to put in an opinion as well.

“And are we forgetting the part where he tried to enslave the entire mage rebellion??” Alistair demanded. “My mother would be a slave in Tevinter if he’d had his way! Or worse! And while we’re here, the bas- he _killed my dog!_ I loved that mabari...”

Alistair’s voice trailed off tearfully, and there’d been an audible gasp of horror from the Fereldan contingent, and Anora in particular looked horrified, her emotions finally forcing her to acknowledge Alistair’s existence for the first time since that fateful Landsmeet ten years ago.

Which might be good for Fereldan politics, but it was no good at all for Elisif right now. Her own family were howling for his head, Queen Anora surely regretting not executing him herself, and yet one of her closer friends had requested clemency. There must be some way… wait. Of course. He’d tried to enslave the mage rebellion? There was such a thing as an eye for an eye, wasn’t there.

“I haven’t forgotten his misguided attempt to indenture the free mages that had already approached me regarding an alliance,” Elisif said, starting to smile. “Maia, Alistair, killing him won’t bring anyone back to life, but there are lots of types of prison. Gereon Alexius, by my right as Inquisitor and Andraste’s Chosen Herald, I hereby conscript you into the Inquisition to assist with its magical research efforts, under the supervision of Grand Enchanter Fiona. If that’s acceptable to you, Grand Enchanter?”

Fiona looked surprised but she was very quick to accept, and Fiona’s acceptance meant Alistair wasn’t arguing, and Madanach had knelt down next to Maia and was whispering just a bit too loudly that that meant Fiona got to make Alexius’s life hell if she wanted, which had cheered Maia up no end. Elisif decided this represented a success.

“You tried to make her people your slaves, now you get to be hers. Try not to disappoint. Come up with something good and I might be persuaded to loosen the shackles.”

Alexius actually looked disappointed.

“I don’t even get an execution?” he sighed. “Ugh. Very well, Herald, have it your way.”

And with that, the trial was over, Fiona having Alexius led away to be given a set of Circle robes and have a phylactery taken, and a Templar watch established just for him, and the irony of the leader of the rebel mages re-establishing the Circle structure for one Tevinter ex-magister was lost on no one. But no one, not even Alexius himself, was complaining. Felix and Dorian were just glad he wasn’t dead.

So it was that the day proceeded on to cheerier pursuits – a garden party in the Inquisition’s garden, at which children played in the sunlight, Maia was trying to train her dog to do tricks, all the adults said how cute Maia was, and the Queen of Ferelden made her way over to talk to Ferelden’s Lost Bastard Prince.

Alistair’s hand swiftly snaked into Elisif’s and he whispered ‘save me!’ into her ear.

“Hush, I think she just wants to talk so it’s all less awkward in future,” Elisif soothed him. Alistair did not look convinced, and Elisif noticed Anora’s entourage all watching very intently.

“Inquisitor,” Anora said, inclining her head before turning to Alistair. “And… Alistair.”

“Hello, Your Majesty,” Elisif said, nudging Alistair so he’d pull himself together at least a bit. “What can we do for you?”

“I just wanted to thank you for dealing with the Alexius matter for me,” she said, twisting her fingers and looking nervous about something, which was most unlike her. “Felix is happy with the outcome at least. And… Alistair. I… came to offer my condolences regarding your dog. I’m so sorry.”

It turned out there was actually one thing that could bring all Fereldans together, regardless of political differences. They all loved their dogs.

“I… thank you,” Alistair gasped, surprised. “He… he died trying to stop them taking me prisoner, it was quick at least. He died bravely.”

“He sounds like a true hero,” Anora said, sounding surprisingly gentle. “What was his name?”

“Barkspawn,” Alistair admitted, going scarlet and shuffling his feet. “Because I used to be a Warden and… it suited him. He was a good dog.”

Anora’s eyes widened, eyebrows raising, genuine sorrow appearing there, and then to everyone’s surprise, she reached out and took Alistair’s hands in hers.

“They’re all good dogs,” Anora said gently. “Should I ask Teagan to build a little memorial to him at Redcliffe Castle? St. Barkspawn, loyal to the last and a mighty defender against the Venatori.”

“You’d do that?” Alistair whispered, blinking back tears. “Wait, can the Chantry even do that? Don’t they claim animals don’t have souls?”

Anora’s lips pursed, eyes narrowing in extreme disapproval of this state of affairs.

“I dare any true Fereldan to look a mabari in the eye and claim it doesn’t have one,” Anora said clearly. “And I defy anyone to tell me mabari don’t follow their masters into the afterlife. I can barely stop mine from following me to the privy, she’s not going to let dying stop her from following. Only reason she’s not here is because she’s got a litter to raise.” Anora’s gaze softened as she turned her attention back to Alistair.

“The current litter is claimed already but there will be others,” Anora said softly. “If you would be in the market for a new mabari pup in a year or so’s time, let me know. I will see what we have.”

“Thank you,” Alistair whispered, and as soon as Anora had moved on to talk with Josephine, Alistair promptly put an arm round Elisif.

“How does she do that?” Alistair whispered. “Just turn up, start talking and get people to _like her?_ I want to hate her, I really do but then she turns round and does that?? She was the first person to hear about him and get it, really get it, you know? He wasn’t just my dog. He was my friend and… now he’s getting a memorial, and she’s going to get the Fereldan Chantry to declare dogs have souls too?”

“Hush, you should probably not talk about that in public,” Elisif whispered. Cassandra had glanced her way, frowning, and Elisif just hoped she’d not heard. She hadn’t told Cassandra yet, probably wouldn't until the announcements got made. She’d be lucky not to have the woman walk out on the Inquisition. But that was a problem for another time.

“As for Anora, there’s a reason she’s queen,” Elisif told him. “You don’t get to stay queen for as long as she has without being able to make enemies like you too much to kill you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Alistair sighed. “I never really got the hang of that bit. I’d have been useless as King, wouldn't I?”

Elisif was far too tactful to agree with him on that one.

“Don’t say that, you’d have done your best,” Elisif said, kissing him on the cheek. “Although perhaps you are best suited elsewhere.”

A flirtatious grin and Alistair got the hint.

“Such as?” Alistair asked, grinning, and Elisif decided to sod the dignitaries, it wasn’t as if it was a secret by this point, was it.

“Right here,” Elisif whispered, leaning over to kiss him, and for a few brief moments, neither of them remembered where they were. But reality alas came calling eventually, as the formalities got under way. There was a formal signing of the alliance agreement, a formal handshaking ceremony and declaration of eternal friendship and support between the people and Kingdom of Ferelden and the Inquisition, and all the important people moved to the Great Hall for the evening’s banquet… after a short break while Elisif put Maia to bed and fed her.

Meanwhile those not quite important enough to merit an invitation to the banquet were gathering in a packed tavern, dubbed the Herald and Dragon after Cicero’s glowing and much-embellished tales of Elisif bravely facing down Corypheus’s dragon. When Elisif had told him off, Cicero had just blinked at her and protested oh but Herald, pretty Herald, you have fought plenty of dragons bravely and triumphed, it is surely not untrue and wrong to celebrate you being a mighty dragonslayer just because one got away. The brave Dragonborn Queen will hunt her down eventually, yes? Even Alduin got away from you _once._

Twice, actually, but the first time barely counted because Elisif had been a novice Dragonborn who barely knew who Alduin was. But she’d seen his point and allowed the name to stand, and now the tavern had a brightly painted sign hanging above the door with Elisif in full battle-gear facing a blighted High Dragon with a fiery sword in hand.

It also had a High Elf standing outside the inn, biting her lip and wanting very desperately to go into the crowded and noisy tavern but feeling very nervous at drinking in a tavern full of humans. Strange, Ferelden humans who didn’t know who she was and might think she was there to serve drinks or clear tables or worse. 

It made it worse that she could hear Bull’s laughter from here, and once she found him, she’d be all right, she knew. But trying to navigate the crowded pub was a bit too much for her.

“HELLO PRETTY LIRIEL!”

Liriel shrieked, jumping in shock and turning to see Cicero standing at her elbow, beaming up at her.

“Cicero, what… you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Liriel cried. She’d been anxious enough as it was, she didn’t need Cicero sneaking up on her. Annoying little man that he was, he just giggled.

“Liriel is very young by High Elf standards, Liriel will be fine,” Cicero laughed. “Was Liriel intending on standing out here all night? Cicero cannot recommend it. Mountain nights get very cold, you know.”

“That isn’t a chat-up line, is it,” Liriel said warily and Cicero’s eyes widened.

“Me? Make inappropriate advances to Liriel?? Cicero gasped. “Cicero would never! Cicero is very fond of sweet Liriel and would never harass or bother her.”

He even looked like he meant it, bless him. Liriel smiled, thinking how he reminded her of another Cicero she’d once known, also red-haired, a boy on the cusp of adulthood who’d probably be a young man by now. Probably. What was nearly-adult and in the midst of puberty plus thirty-two years, in human terms? Liriel wasn’t really sure but thirty years was nothing, he was probably still young. Married maybe, with kids. Younger than this Cicero, certainly, although the similarities got to her.

“Bull’s holding court in that tavern, shall we join him?” Liriel said, holding out her hand to him, and Cicero squeaked and took it. 

“Of course!” Cicero cooed. “Here, do not worry about the crowds, Cicero has this technique for navigating them. It’s called the Mosquito.”

Cicero’s dagger flicked into his free hand, and he led Liriel forward, and to her horror, proceeded to ‘encourage’ people to move by delicately flicking the point of his knife into people who didn’t give way quickly enough. Their progress was marked by a whole group of people yelping and clutching various body parts and looking around suspiciously, but most were outsiders who didn’t know Cicero and hadn’t been warned by Inquisition people yet, and Cicero had removed his hat before entering. So it was Cicero passed by without suspicion and steered Liriel safely to Iron Bull’s table.

“TAM!” Bull roared, already several pints down if the scattered tankards over the table were any indication. “You made it!”

“I made it,” Liriel gasped, seeing several Chargers, Sera and Eola also present, both studiously ignoring the other. But Eola smiled to see them and space was made between her and Iron Bull, and while Cicero cuddled his wife, that left Liriel sitting next to Bull. Which was definitely a good thing, even if it did make her feel really nervous. Especially when he patted her on the back and asked what she wanted to drink.

“Drink?? Oh, er, I...” _Please not a tankard, I can’t drink all that, I’d die._

“There are some very nice wines!” Cicero offered. “Orlesian merchants are falling over themselves to bring their wares up here. Cicero particularly likes the Val Firmin 8:35 red. Not too dry, but doesn’t overdo it.”

“One of them then,” Liriel said, relieved someone knew the drinks well enough to pick one for her. Give her an Alinorian wine or a Cyrodiilic beverage, or even a Reachman cocktail, and she was fine, but Orlesian wines seemed designed to confuse.

“That’s because they are,” Sera explained, grinning. “See, these Orlesian nobs make it as complicated as possible so they can get points for showing off their knowledge. But really, it all tastes the same, yeah? Wine-flavoured.”

This was met with spluttering from Cicero who protested that it did not all taste the same, there were many different factors to consider and each wine had its own unique bouquet and…

“Bloody hell, Knifey’s a wine snob,” Sera sighed. “You know what, I should be surprised, but I should have seen this coming. He’s a bloody cake foodie as it is.”

“Baking is a very delicate art!” Cicero protested. He’d seen fancy Orlesian cakes for sale in Val Royeaux, been impressed, and taken up baking. Sera in particular had been on the receiving end of Cicero emerging with a tray of elaborately decorated amusers-bouches or fondant fancies and insisting she try one, try one! She was reluctant to admit it, but they actually tasted quite nice… most of the time. When he wasn’t adding Antivan chilli to them as an experiment of course.

“Yes, I know, sweetie, and you're very good at it,” Eola purred, placing a hand over Cicero’s and gently forcing it to the table, an excellent way of silencing him, because Imperials in general couldn't get through a conversation without extravagant hand gestures and Cicero was more prone to it than most.

“So, if it all tastes the same and the Orlesians are just making it up, what’s to stop someone from just switching out the 4:67 Val Chevin with some cheap piss and seeing if anyone notices?” Krem asked, toying with his own glass.

“Nothing!” Sera giggled. “It’s hilarious, yeah? You can swap out half a noble’s expensive wine collection and he’ll never even notice! Meanwhile an entire alienage can get arse-faced on the good stuff! It’s great, innit?”

Further questioning revealed that no, Orlesians hardly ever actually drank the stuff because they felt it was too expensive to waste on mere drinking, but that it was ridiculously easy to fake up a bottle, and it wasn’t long before Cicero was asking all sorts of fascinated questions, fully intending to look into the possible production of counterfeit wines so as to liberate Orlesians from their money.

Meanwhile, as the rest of the table started to plan out a wine fraud operation, Bull edged a bit closer to Liriel.

“So, Tam,” Bull began, refilling her glass from the wine pitcher Cicero had ordered. “I, er, had a question. About something Cicero said before.”

Auriel have mercy. Cicero came out with all sorts of rubbish on a regular basis, and Liriel barely felt competent to explain half of it.

“Did it involve stabbing?” Liriel sighed. “Or… he’s not started up with that Unmaker stuff again, has he?”

“No, not exactly,” Bull said, and was it Liriel or did he sound nervous? “It, er, involved you, actually.”

“Me?” Liriel whispered, feeling herself blushing and everything seeming to get louder and was it her or was it hot in here? “What about me?”

“The bit where he said it was inappropriate to chat you up,” Bull said, and Liriel’s mind promptly descended into full-blown panic, because she liked Bull, she did, he was her friend, but the thought of doing anything more than cuddling terrified her.

Liriel tried to say something, anything, but her mouth seemed to have gone dry, her palms were sweating, her throat had closed up, and the only sound she could make was a little meeping noise.

Meanwhile the rest of the table had gone quiet, Krem looked actually pained, Sera was leaning in _fascinated…_ and Cicero had slid out of his seat and practically slithered round to Liriel’s side, staring Bull down furiously.

“Iron Bull, Cicero thought he’d made it perfectly clear that this line of conversation was _inappropriate?_ ” Cicero hissed, and while Cicero was half the size of Iron Bull, somehow Bull was the one looking nervous.

“Yeah, you did, but what you never said was _why,_ ” Bull said, just about concealing his nerves. “Why can’t I chat Liriel up? It’s her decision who she sleeps with, not yours.”

Liriel actually sobbed at this, because this wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have, or something she wanted to think about, because she’d always assumed she’d fall in love, have a long Altmer courtship, get married and then, only then, would sex be on the agenda, and she’d been fine with that, with not having to think about it or bother looking for it, and it wasn’t like she’d ever met anyone she’d desperately wanted to sleep with anyway. (Even if Madanach occasionally gave rise to inappropriate thoughts, but he was safely married and therefore nothing would ever happen.)

But Bull was here and Bull was… something, and she could see herself spending time with him and cuddling and maybe even kissing but the thought of anything else happening, the thought of clothes coming off and body parts going in other body parts and _fluids…_ no. Just… no.

“I can’t,” Liriel gasped, full-blown panic taking hold. “I’m sorry. I… can’t.”

She had to get out of here. Leaping from her seat and shoving her way through the crowds, Liriel fled the tavern.

Cicero reached out, whispering her name but Liriel was already gone. And so Cicero turned his attention to the confused Qunari wondering what he’d done wrong. 

“Now look what you have done,” Cicero hissed, features twisting into a truly terrifying rictus that few ever saw and lived. “You have _upset Liriel!_ She was frightened! And unhappy! Cicero told you! Cicero TOLD YOU it was inappropriate to ask Liriel such questions!”

Cicero's hand flicked instinctively to his dagger at his waist… only to find empty air, and then Cicero lost it completely on realising neither of the knives he’d had on entering the tavern were there.

“WHERE. ARE. MY. _DAGGERS????_ ” Cicero shrieked, silencing the entire tavern, and even the ones who didn’t know who he was flinched. “THIEVING LYING DEMON, IT WAS HIM, I KNOW IT WAS HIM, CICERO SHALL FIND HIM AND END HIM, I SWEAR-”

Eola had seen the situation going nowhere good and acted to defuse things, both hands clamping down on Cicero’s arms.

“That’s enough,” Eola said calmly, and Cicero twisted round, pouting at her.

“But Eola, Liriel is upset and Cicero’s daggers are _gone!_ ” Cicero wailed.

“Yes, and you just announced that to the entire tavern, which means anyone who wanted to jump you now knows you’re unarmed,” Eola said sweetly. “Cicero, my darling, perhaps you want to think these things through first?”

Cicero went a bit pink, giggled nervously and coughed once, before staring up at Eola with the most forlorn expression he could muster.

“Please help poor Cicero?” he whispered, and Eola smiled and kissed the end of his nose.

“I will track down Cole,” Eola promised. “Meanwhile Liriel looked pretty upset. You’re worried about her? Get out there and find her. She can’t have gone far. Most obvious place for her to go when she’s upset is the library, and the Great Hall route’s closed due to the party. Head for the entrance near the stables, she likely went that way.”

Cicero gasped, exclaiming of course, of course! Poor Liriel would need a friend to comfort her! The dear, sweet High Elf could not be left to wander the castle on her own in a state of distress! Anything could happen! So Cicero scampered out of the tavern and an entire building’s worth of people all promptly relaxed and returned to their drinks.

“Would he actually have stabbed me?” Bull had to ask, eyes flicking nervously at the departing jester. Eola just shrugged.

“Probably not… well, not lethally anyway,” Eola said, not sounding terribly concerned about whether this happened or not. “I think he just wanted to make a point about not harassing Liriel. Who by the way does not want to have sex with you, because people who want to have sex with someone don’t normally have panic attacks at the mere thought of it and run away. So you leave Cicero to me, and you leave Liriel alone, hmm? That one prefers books and spellcraft to sex, trust me on this.”

Anyone who’d ever seen Liriel with either a brand new book or a really ancient tome wouldn't hesitate to agree on this one, and Bull had visited her in Skyhold’s library before now. Not for long, the side-eyes from the mages tended to put him off, and the unflinching gazes of the Tranquil _really_ bothered him, and somehow, whenever he started paying any attention to Liriel, Solas would emerge and then things would get _really_ uncomfortable and he’d end up making his excuses and leaving (but not before inviting Liriel to the pub for drinks later on).

But something in the way Eola had phrased it stirred something in Bull’s memory, something from his sex education lessons under the Qun, sandwiched in between the Importance of Consent and Communication, and the Role of Tamassrans in Managing Sexual Needs and Why Exclusive Sexual Relationships Harmed the Qun. Something about a small sub-group of people who didn’t actually feel sexual attraction or need sex in the same way everyone else did and who didn’t need to visit Tamassrans to relieve frustration, or not as much anyway. While Bull didn’t really understand it himself, he knew enough to recognise this in someone else, and under the Qun, these people were respected and even honoured.

Which meant he’d been going about things in completely the wrong way, and the realisation both triggered guilt and lifted a weight off his shoulders. Cicero must have seen it too, and in his own mad little way he’d been trying to tell Bull all along. 

Well, Bull knew now, and if his intentions towards Liriel had to undergo a massive shift in expectation, he could manage this. Under the Qun, forming a romantic relationship was in itself unwise, although barely tolerated as long as the participants did not place it above the Qun or talk about it to anyone. Having sex with them as well? Unheard of, unless you wanted a quick trip to the re-educators. So if this meant pursuing a connection with Liriel but not having sex with her, he could manage that.

“So, er, is anyone worried that Knifey’s out there unarmed on his own and the entire pub knows it?” Sera interrupted, frowning. “You’re not worried he might get jumped?”

“Hardly,” Eola laughed, pitching her voice just loud enough to carry to the entire room. “He’s skilled in unarmed combat, knows a bit of magic, and anyone comes at him with a knife, he’ll just see someone offering him both a weapon and permission to stab them, he’ll be delighted.”

A little shiver went round half the pub, and when Eola left to track Cole down, everyone felt relieved.

“So we don’t need to be worried about Knifey getting hurt, just everyone else,” Sera muttered. “That is so not comforting. What’s the opposite of comforting? That.”

“Oh come on, you knew he was a dangerous assassin when you met him,” Bull told her, rolling his eyes.

“Didn’t he stab a man in front of you when you first met?” Krem asked, smirking.

“Yeah, but… look, I just wanted him where I could see him,” Sera shivered. “Not knowing where he is, that bothers me, you know? Never know what he might be doing.”

“Well right now, he’ll be comforting Liriel after Bull upset her,” Dalish said tersely. “Honestly, chief, you know we wouldn't dream of interfering in your love life, but Liriel was really rather upset. Could you refrain from bothering her?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know she’s your friend and all, and I don’t wanna hurt her,” Bull sighed. “Look, I know where I went wrong now. Liriel freaks out at the mention of sex, so I won’t mention it. We just don’t have sex. It’ll be fine. What?”

Silence around the table as several Chargers and Sera all stared at him and then as one they all burst out laughing, Sera actually snorting ale out of her nose.

“What??” Bull cried. “What the hell is so funny?”

“Sorry chief,” Krem managed to get out in between wheezing. “Just trying to imagine you fancying someone and not shagging them.”

“He can’t even say ‘I’d tap that’ and he’s doing them behind the pub half an hour later,” Sera snickered, before her smile faded. “Seriously, mate, stop doing that. I want to be able to have my window open of an evening without finding out half the kitchen staff’s kinks. Don’t need to know that Ellen who does puddings has a daddy fetish, and Tom the baker’s lad has a thing for spanking.”

Everyone other than Bull shuddered, not a one of them having really needed to know that.

“He said he’d tap that about Liriel and she ran away in tears,” Skinner said smugly. “He won’t be exploring her kinks behind the tavern any time soon. She’d gut him if he tried.”

“Of course I won’t, that’s the point!” Bull cried, wondering how his own crew seemed to have got the impression he was some sort of sex maniac. “Look, I’m not some sort of addict. I don’t need sex to survive. I can go without it. I give my partners what they need, I find out what their secret fantasies are and I make them happen. If Liriel doesn’t have any secret fantasies, and her main needs are being reminded to eat and drink and spend time with other people after ten hours solid in the library, I can do that too.”

“You gonna go the rest of your life without sex for her, are you?” Krem asked, not entirely seeing how that was going to work, given that Bull never turned down an offer of sex with anyone that he’d seen… apart from members of the Chargers, who he was studiously strict about not having sex with, and suddenly Krem began to see his point.

“Eh, she’s going back home after all this is over, and I don’t think there’s a place for me there,” Bull said, shrugging as he suppressed the little twinge he felt at the thought of Liriel going home for good. “Even if anything did happen, it wouldn’t last. But she’s pretty and she’s bright and I like her company. I want to make the most of it while she’s here, and that doesn’t have to involve me putting my dick inside her. Sera, cut it out.”

“Sorry,” Sera snickered, still giggling. “Just can’t imagine you being OK with your Little Bull not getting any attention.”

“Hey,” Bull snapped, palm hitting the table. “First, it’s not that little. Second, you manage without a dick in your sex life. I’ll cope.”

“Well, if you need any tips on pleasing a woman without using your knob, you just let me know,” Sera grinned, sipping from her glass.

Bull made a mental note to never go to Sera for advice on his sex life ever, and the conversation moved on, to his relief. Liriel might not be interested anyway. Chances were she’d refuse to talk to him and tell him to go to hell. But she was sweet and kind and really rather bright and he liked her. He owed it to himself to give it a try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

As Eola had suspected, Liriel had initially gone for the Great Hall, before seeing lights and hearing the cacophony of voices, remembering there was a diplomatic banquet going on and turning away, not able to face the Queen of Ferelden’s entourage and the top brass of the Inquisition all staring at her at once. Not in this state.

But she didn’t have the energy to get herself down the steps and through the courtyard and to the back steps that led up to the safety of the library, and so Liriel ended up sinking down onto the steps of Skyhold’s Hall, crying quietly.

 _I can’t do it, I can’t, I can’t, he’s not even an elf._ And Liriel had the feeling that it wouldn't make a difference if he was, and she didn’t even know what to think about that.

“Liriel?”

Soft voice, almost a whisper, and Cicero was there, gliding in to sit next to her, wringing his hands and large eyes staring up at her.

_Flashback to 175 4E and crawling through the Imperial City’s catacombs, Aldmeri armour covered in Auriel-knows-what by this point, undead lurking everywhere and we’d just got to the altar of Meridia that is supposed to ensure the dead stay dead, and…_

If it hadn’t been for Tyr’s quick reactions and the fact that her assailant was an adolescent boy with no real knife skills to speak of, Liriel might have breathed her last, but as it was, Tyr had tackled him to the ground and taken the iron dagger off him, the point of which had skittered harmlessly off Liriel’s armour anyway.

He’d turned out to be an angry Imperial boy with red hair, not enough flesh on his naturally skinny frame, and still clearly mourning the mother who’d died defending the city last year. He’d seen a lone Aldmeri soldier and wanted revenge, and it had only been the presence of Legate Cassia, a matronly figure with clear Imperial allegiances, that had calmed him down and convinced him they were there to help reclaim the city for the Empire and that Liriel wasn’t working for the Dominion.

He’d offered his services on the spot, and while no one was sure what use a teenage boy with rudimentary weapons skills at best would be, they could hardly just leave him. Then the dead had started rising, and Liriel had had Cicero operating the altar’s enchantments while they dealt with the walking corpses. Then had come the unwanted realisation that the Veil was already thinning thanks to the blood sacrifices, hence the undead walking, and that they needed to hurry.

Through it all, through facing down Daedra and Lord Naarifin’s minions, Cicero hadn’t run away, hadn’t flinched, had stolen some armour off a corpse without showing any outwards signs of disturbance, looted a few weapons as well and turned out to not be a bad shot with a bow. And when Tyr had been taken hostage by Naarifin’s Daedric bodyguard, it had been Cicero’s bowshot that distracted the Dremora long enough for Liriel to throw the Orb of Vaermina out of the window, cutting off Naarifin’s secret weapon at a stroke. 

The Dremora had let Tyr go and gone for Liriel, and one of Cicero’s arrows had taken him in the eye. He’d been easy prey for the rest of them after that, and they’d fled back to the Imperial siege headquarters, Cicero with them, squealing throughout about how _exciting_ this all was. And then to Liriel’s surprise, he’d cuddled her and whispered he was sorry for trying to stab her, he didn’t know she’d changed sides.

That had been an unexpected kick in the stomach, because up until that point, she hadn’t thought she had changed sides, she was just trying to prevent a disaster… but sitting in the Imperial camp, having just kicked a hole in the Aldmeri Dominion’s defences personally, making the city easy prey for a renewed capture attempt, with a young Imperial boy staring up at her like she was some sort of hero, she realised the Dominion would not see it this way and she’d just committed treason.

It had been too late to turn back at that point, and Liriel had spent the last few decades living with the consequences, trying to forget, and the constant anxiety they might find out and execute her eventually sending her to study abroad in the Empire she’d saved. But she’d never forgotten, and seeing this Cicero staring up at her, worry and concern in his eyes as he gently patted her arm, she was reminded of that young boy. She wondered what he was doing these days.

“Hello Cicero,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Cicero squeezed her hand and edged closer, smiling a little.

“Pretty Liriel does not need to worry about upsetting Cicero, Cicero likes Liriel and is very forgiving,” Cicero cooed, and while Liriel didn’t really believe that last bit, she would take friendship where it was offered.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and Cicero smiled, not the usual demented grin but a genuine expression of comfort and care not often seen on him.

“It is no problem, Liriel,” he said quietly. “Cicero remem- Cicero will help you if you need him. You need not fear. The Inquisition protects its own, but if there is any _within_ the Inquisition that concerns you… Cicero will help. Cicero is the eyes in the shadow. Cicero can deal with… problems.”

“Don’t hurt him!” Liriel cried, wrenching her hand from his. Maybe Bull had alarmed and confused her, but Liriel didn’t think he’d intended to hurt her.

Cicero blinked, looking surprised, frowning at her.

“Liriel, he was making unwanted advances!” Cicero protested. “Cicero cannot allow that, no matter how much he likes Bull! Cicero has explained the error of his ways to him, and if Bull oversteps the mark again, Cicero will have no choice but to take action!”

“No!” Liriel cried, appalled at the thought of Bull coming to harm, because while Bull was a highly-trained Ben-Hassrath agent capable of protecting himself, Cicero was a highly-trained Dark Brotherhood assassin, and Cicero only needed to be successful once.

“Liriel!” Cicero sighed, flinging up his hands in confusion. “All right, all right, would punishment be sufficient? Removal of body parts?”

“No!” Liriel snapped. “Look, it wasn’t his fault! He saw someone he liked and chatted her up, he does that, we all know that! It’s not his fault I...”

_It’s not his fault there’s something wrong with me._

Liriel hadn’t really thought about it that way before, she’d just assumed not wanting sex was normal and that she’d just not met anyone she liked that way, but here was Bull, and she did like him… and the thought of sex just made her freeze up.

Tears in her eyes, Skyhold going blurry and then Cicero was cuddling her and fussing and telling her not to cry, please don’t cry, it was all right, Cicero would help, he would! Only please don’t cry, they might think it was his fault.

Liriel cuddled him back, unable to quite avoid laughing at that bit, and while there might actually be something wrong with her on a fundamental level, at least she had a friend.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Only please don’t stab Bull. He’s a good man and… and I like him, and I wish I could just say yes to him, because he makes me laugh and makes me feel safe, but I can’t… I can’t have sex with him, I just can’t.”

Cicero had gone quiet, clearly thinking this over, and then he looked up, frowning.

“Sex is very much The Iron Bull’s favourite recreational activity next to killing things and drinking, this is going to be a difficult thing to negotiate,” Cicero murmured. “But… from what Bull has told Cicero of the Qun, it might not be so outlandish? Would Liriel be upset if Bull was her partner but occasionally got his needs satisfied elsewhere?”

Liriel flinched, because she wasn’t sure she’d like that idea either. And yet… maybe. If she didn’t have to think about it, she could turn a blind eye to him having sex with other people? Perhaps? 

She didn’t know. And it still tore at her heart that it turned out she couldn't actually do the most fundamental thing to a romantic relationship, and that this was probably going to cast a shadow over her entire life. But Cicero at least was being sympathetic, and he seemed to think something might be worked out.

“We can ask him, right?” Liriel whispered. “I mean… could you tell him I’m sorry, and can we talk somewhere that isn’t a crowded, noisy tavern?”

Cicero grinned broadly and patted her back.

“I will tell him,” Cicero promised. “Liriel is feeling better?”

Liriel nodded, and got to her feet, Cicero helping her up and being very solicitous as he helped her down the steps to the courtyard. She hadn’t expected the High Queen’s very own Laughing Dagger to be quite so sweet and friendly, especially considering she’d not known him very long. This was the sort of thing she’d expect from the boy she’d rescued from the catacombs all those years ago, not a man who was the wrong age to have been there. This Cicero was too old. 

Or young.

Or… bollocks. Liriel realised suddenly she didn’t understand human ages at all. Which meant… no. Surely not.

“Cicero,” Liriel began, not sure how to have this conversation, so she decided to start with hypotheticals. “If a human was fourteen years old, and then thirty three years went past, they’d be forty seven, right?”

Cicero stopped in his tracks, looked up sharply and frowned.

“Liriel asks this why? Cicero knows Liriel is bright and can do arithmetic.”

“Yes,” Liriel gasped. “But I don’t know what a forty seven year old human looks like! I can never figure out human ages! I know Maia’s five and she’s a little girl, but then you’ve got Alistair and Elisif as thirty but they’re completely different when it comes to levels of maturity! And I don’t even know how old you are! You keep complaining you’re getting old but I don’t know what figure that is, and you’re not old how Madanach was before Flemeth restored him.”

Cicero made a little whimpering noise in his throat, clasping his hands together and looking like he was about to cry.

“You do not understand human ages,” he whispered. “Of course, of course, Altmer live for centuries, thirty years is nothing to you. You meet a fourteen year old boy, thirty years pass, you’re unchanged and you expect the boy to be a young man.”

Cicero stopped and wiped a tear from his eyes and then looked up, smiling at her again even while tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“Forty seven is middle-aged for a human,” Cicero whispered. “Cicero is forty seven, but during the war, he was a teenage boy, his mama dead and his home destroyed and he was hiding in the Imperial City’s catacombs because the Aldmeri forces would round up orphans and no one would ever see them again. He was afraid Liriel was leading a patrol to find him...”

Cicero stopped talking and flung his arms around her, clinging on to her and sniffling in her arms, and Liriel could barely even process the fact it was him. Cicero, her Cicero, that little boy who’d helped save the Empire, had grown up, learnt to stab things properly and was here, helping the Empire again.

And he hadn’t forgotten her. No one else had known, history had moved on without her, no one knew that Naarifin’s reign of terror had come to an end because one of his own soldiers had inadvertently found out the truth – that he was planning to massacre the entire population of the biggest city in Tamriel in order to break open the Gates of Oblivion and summon the Daedra through to conquer Tamriel for the Dominion. No one knew it hadn’t really been the Emperor leading the army that had reconquered the Imperial City, and no one knew that it hadn’t been Titus Mede who’d executed Naarifin.

Apart from Cicero. He’d seen it all and he knew and he remembered, and he thought she was a hero.

No one knew she’d saved Tamriel that time, apart from the man currently cuddling her tearfully and who had just renewed his promise to help her if she ever needed it.

Liriel promptly hugged him for all she was worth.

“It is you!” she gasped. “You’re Cicero! My Cicero! You’re alive! And here! And… you’re working for the Imperial Heir!”

“Yes!” Cicero squealed. “I am, I am! After the war, Legate Cassia said I had potential and started training me, and I did lots of things and had lots of adventures, most of which Cicero isn’t really at liberty to share, and now Cicero helps Elisif! Cicero ensures she can make decisions and do the right thing without worrying about her enemies stabbing her over it.”

Liriel knew full well that hadn’t been the half of it, and how he’d gone from being the protege of a war hero Legate and presumably doing some sort of scout or stealth operative work for the Legion to joining the Dark Brotherhood, Liriel couldn't even begin to fathom and it was probably best not to ask questions. But having a friend who knew her, really knew her… that was something she hadn’t realised she’d missed having.

“Will you help me with Bull?” Liriel whispered, and Cicero nodded eagerly.

“Of course!” Cicero gasped. “Cicero will happily help! But not tonight. Let us get you inside, to your quarters in the library, and sweet Liriel can rest. Cicero will speak with Bull in the morning on your behalf.”

That actually sounded all right, and Liriel felt the tension die out of her as Cicero led her away. 

She had a friend, a true friend, an old friend rediscovered. Everything was going to be fine.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cole watched from the shadows, having seen Liriel’s memories and Cicero’s, realised the truth and nudged Liriel to ask about Cicero’s age. Because it was wrong to have two old friends in the keep and not having them be able to talk about it because Cicero didn’t know how to broach the subject and Liriel didn’t know how human ages worked.

But thanks to Cole’s nudging, Liriel had asked and Cicero had told her and there’d been a tearful reunion and two old friends back together again. A brother and sister, despite being two different species, both serving to remind each other what the right thing to do was, Liriel remembering why she’d turned on the Thalmor and Cicero remembering how he’d originally started down the road he was on, a deadly assassin remembering why he’d started killing. It hadn’t started out with killing for coin. It had started with a Legate who reminded him of his lost mother and serving the Empire he’d been raised to be loyal to.

Cole still wasn’t sure what to do with Liriel and Bull, but it seemed Cicero was willing to help with negotiations, and Bull had every intention of respecting Liriel’s limits, so he supposed they could probably work it out without him. 

So Cole turned round to go see if there was anyone else in need of help… and ran straight into Eola. Who was smiling at him. Predatorily. Viciously. The same way she’d smile at a barely-cooked steak. And what bothered Cole most of all was that he’d had no idea she was there. Everyone else’s thoughts, needs, the things they needed help or comfort with, couldn’t help but dazzle Cole with their light.

He got nothing from Eola, and that worried him most of all.

“Hello Cole,” Eola purred. “Nice evening, isn’t it? What were you up to?”

Nothing, still nothing, he could see her, even smell her (blood, iron, meat, wolf musk, hint of herbs he couldn’t place but he had a feeling one or more was poisonous) but he couldn't feel her and that disturbed him more than anything else.

“Why can’t I feel you?” he whispered and Eola laughed, delighted, reaching out to seize his chin and draw him closer. 

“Can you feel this?” she laughed. “Or… oh of course. You’re a spirit, aren’t you? You sense people’s thoughts. I know you read my father’s and he nearly killed you for it. I know you read Cicero’s too and ran away in disgust. But you get nothing from me? Interesting!”

“What are you?” Cole managed to get out, and Eola grinned. 

“I’m human. Mostly. I’m definitely a powerful witch with forbidden magic at her command. And if you ever turn, I’m probably the one who’ll end up hunting you down. Particularly as it seems you can’t sense me. Now what was Liriel saying earlier, oh yes. You’re drawn to people in need and see into their minds so you can fix their problems. You’re a spirit of compassion.”

Eola tilted her head and leaned in, her breath smelling of the sweet smell of decay.

“I guess I don’t need any compassion, do I?”

Cole knew in that moment what she was. Cicero at least had something – a conscience, emotions, having been raised by a mother who loved him. He had the potential for good, damaged as he was.

Eola was something else. Eola’s emotions were a stunted, half-formed thing, and she barely understood what compassion was. No wonder he couldn't read her. She had no need of anything he represented.

“You’re a monster,” Cole whispered, and Eola smiled and nodded.

“I am,” Eola said, grinning as she let him go. “But I’ve got a father and husband who love me, and two little girls who no doubt miss me, and a vampire lover who’d find you and avenge me. So don’t get any ideas, hmm? Now then. My husband’s knives. He was trained to see them as an extension of his arms. He was taught that they should never be further than three feet away, and he was punished if that ever came to pass. He did not lose those daggers, someone took them. Someone so skilled Cicero never even noticed, and yet they left his coin-purse in favour of two rare daggers that are impossible to fence.” Eola tilted her head and her smile faded.

“Cole, where are they and why did you take them,” she sighed.

Well, he could answer those, at least.

“He would have stabbed The Iron Bull,” Cole said, adjusting his clothes then staring back at Eola. “Bull is his friend, but so is Liriel and he’s known her longer. She rescued him, that time she saved the world and can’t tell anyone about.”

“You might perhaps not want to mention that if it’s a secret,” Eola said, raising an eyebrow. “But you were worried he’d genuinely stab Bull. Interesting. I wasn’t.”

Whether Eola either would have liked the idea of Bull getting stabbed or might have stopped Cicero, Cole wasn’t sure, but he did know she’d likely prefer to avoid her husband publicly stabbing someone.

“The Iron Bull might have hit back,” Cole whispered. “He might have killed Cicero. He’d have regretted that. So would Cicero if The Iron Bull had died. They care about each other really. It’s not just big muscles and big everything else and red hair. They both sacrificed for institutions that never loved them back. They both need family, even if The Iron Bull doesn’t know it yet. They’ve got similar training, they see the world through the same lens. They’re brothers. They can’t kill each other!”

And for the first time, he felt something from Eola, even as her stance softened. A hint of a thought, half-formed, so dim he could barely sense it, but it was something almost like… compassion. Compassion for Cicero. Whatever Eola’s other flaws, she genuinely loved her husband.

“No,” Eola said thoughtfully. “No, they certainly can’t. I think I need to speak with my husband – he’s known Liriel before, you say? Now that actually makes sense. He’s always fawned over her. I thought he had a crush but perhaps it’s something else. So perhaps if I speak with Cicero and find out why he’s willing to stab a friend and fuckbuddy over Liriel, and then see if Bull could perhaps leave Liriel alone, and make sure Liriel’s OK and generally sit all parties round a table and ensure no one’s going to stab anyone… if we can get it to the point where everyone’s friends again and respecting people’s boundaries… could Cicero perhaps have his daggers back? They’re valuable and he won’t be happy without them.”

_Anxious, afraid, one lone man with no weapons, easy prey – not easy, but still prey, that’s if Speaker Lucille doesn’t beat me for losing them, I don’t mind a flogging but not from the whip with the ebony shards on the end._

“Yes,” Cole said quietly. “If he’s not going to stab The Iron Bull. Or anyone else in Skyhold.”

“I can stop him from doing any unauthorised stabbing,” Eola promised. “If he kills anyone here, he’s been ordered by Elisif or Leliana… or he found out someone’s been a naughty boy or girl.”

Cole could believe that. And so Eola let him go, and Cole melted away into the shadows, keen to put as much distance between himself and Eola as possible. Some things even a spirit feared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eola is in need of no compassion because she's a cannibalistic monster with a rudimentary conscience at best, and therefore Cole can't read her mind. :)
> 
> Canonically Cole takes people's daggers away if he thinks they're going to knife someone in a fight. It was only a matter of time before he targeted Cicero.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elisif's having some same strange dreams, but the presence of Alistair in real life is a comfort. Solas however is finding them less than amusing, as it turns out even a somniarus can't command a Dragonborn - or her family. Meanwhile Dorian has issues, but he's not without friends if he thinks to look for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hear the people sing, singing the song of angry men... ahem. Sorry, I'm English, the last few days have been very distracting. Hilarious, but distracting. And nothing to do with this fic, not really. Instead, we've got the return to Crestwood, the Solas dream sequences, and the lead-in to Dorian's personal quest and the meeting with Hawke.

The Fereldans eventually returned home, and Elisif was relieved to have her castle back. Still half-built but serviceable, and its halls strangely quiet with all the guests gone, but Elisif didn’t mind. It was nice to have the place to herself again.

Her travels took her into the base of the library tower, where Solas was there, working on one of his murals, this one clearly marking the attack on Haven. It really was quite the work of art. Elisif had no idea the elf could paint as well as do magic.

“I can’t do both?” Solas asked wryly as she said this, and then for some reason he started and frowned at her, as if he’d not expected her to be there.

“I just meant it must have taken a lot of time to get good at magic and painting,” Elisif said, marvelling at the bright scarlet outlining Corypheus’s stylised form. “And you’re not that old, are you? How do you find time?”

Solas smiled cryptically, as if something amused him about that.

“It is possible to have more than one passion in your life. You should know that, Inquisitor.”

Which was very far from amusing in Elisif’s mind, and he must have seen the way she was glaring at him, because he laid down his brushes and turned to her apologetically.

“Forgive me, I meant no offense,” Solas told her. “For what it’s worth, you seem happy with them both, and Alistair seems happy for what seems the first time in a long time. He has changed much from the young man who lit the beacon fire at Ostagar and watched helplessly as Loghain Mac Tir pulled his troops away, a veteran commander unwilling to let more men die in a lost cause.”

“That’s not the way Alistair tells it,” Elisif said, remembering Alistair lying beside her in the dark, quietly talking about Ostagar and the loss of the man who, it turned out, had actually been the father he’d never had. “He makes Loghain sound like the worst kind of moustache-twirling villain. And when did you go to Ostagar? You were never a Warden.”

“It was years after the Blight,” Solas said softly, staring into the distance. “I visited the battlefield and slept there, to see the memories left behind in the Fade. I saw it for myself, shown images by the spirits who had witnessed the events. Death on such a scale always weakens the Veil.”

“You saw it?” Elisif whispered, not having known that was actually possible… but she supposed it might be. She’d have to ask Madanach. “So what happened? Whose version is true?”

“It is the Fade,” Solas said, shrugging. “It is all true.”

Elisif closed her eyes, counting quietly to ten and making a mental note to never tell Alistair this. He would not appreciate it. About time she got this conversation back on track. She’d definitely had something she wanted to ask, and Solas was someone who was best placed to know.

“I had a question about the mark,” Elisif said, rubbing her forehead. “Madanach seems to think it’s a bit like a sigil stone, that’s a stone with Daedric markings that can open portals into Oblivion. Except the mark is in my hand, and I don’t know how it got there. I was wondering if you had any ideas. You seem to know a lot about the Veil.”

Solas said nothing, staring inscrutably back at her and then he held out his hand.

“You continue to surprise me,” he said, leading her away. “All right then, Herald. Come with me, we can talk elsewhere.”

A step and then they were in Haven, trudging through the snow, sun shining down and lighting up the cabins and tents, Inquisition banners fluttering in the breeze, and something was wrong, but Elisif couldn’t think what.

“Why are we here?” Elisif said, frowning.

“Haven is familiar to you,” Solas told her. “It will always mean something. But I brought you here because this is where I first saw your mark… and you.”

The scene shifted again and they were in the cells in the basement of Haven Chantry, where Elisif had first woken up to a glowing hand and the realisation she was very far from home.

“You were unconscious and dying, the mark threatening to spread and kill you,” Solas said softly. “The Breach was spreading and no one knew how to stop it. Cassandra was shouting at me, demanding answers, and no one seemed to know who you were or how you’d simply staggered out of the Fade. I was at my wits’ end. I even considered fleeing. I thought I would give closing a rift one last try.”

A memory of Solas grabbing her hand and pointing it at a rift, power pouring out of her and sealing it shut, and then they were back in the snow outside.

“It would seem you hold the key to our salvation,” Solas said calmly, and it was almost like she was back there… but something was wrong, something constantly at the corner of her eyes, and then it occurred to her that Haven was currently lying under a mile of snow a long way south of Skyhold.

“This isn’t real,” Elisif whispered. “Are we in the...”

“The Fade, yes,” Solas said, allowing himself a small smile. “You came to find me in the Fade, of your own volition, without realising you were doing it. Your mark caused it, I think. Clearly it has some control over the Veil, allowing you to navigate freely in your sleep, although why it drew you to me, I don’t know. Perhaps we can discuss this more after you… _wake up!_ ”

Power washed over Elisif, and she shook it away irritably, still looking at Haven, quiet and impossibly empty, a memory and no more but still seeming so real. Hard to believe she and Solas were the only real things here. 

“I’m lucid dreaming,” Elisif whispered, having heard stories about this being possible but never having thought she’d ever manage it. “This is amazing!”

Solas had narrowed his eyes, starting to glare a little.

“Yes, it is, but isn’t time you were to… _wake up!_ ” he repeated. 

Something almost like the Thu’um hit her that time… but Elisif shook it off. Solas might be powerful, but he was no master of the Voice.

“No, I don’t think so,” Elisif said, narrowing her eyes, her dragon blood whispering to be wary of this one. He was assuming too much power, and in the realm of dreams, he might just be able to Shout like she could. But he was no Dovahkiin, and he didn’t have the power to command her. “I’m not ready yet. Do you know, I think I might find Maia. I want to make sure she’s not having nightmares.”

The ability to dreamwalk to her baby and comfort her in the actual dream was something Elisif had long wished she was able to do. About time she gave it a go. And so with Maia on her mind, she stepped and the world shifted, and she was walking through Solitude market.

It was quieter and a lot cleaner, and guards saluted as she passed, and she heard Solas behind her, muttering under his breath as he struggled to keep up.

“Where is this place?” he gasped. “Is this Denerim? It looks a little like Denerim.”

“No, it’s home,” Elisif said calmly, feeling herself get stronger, happier, as the city that claimed her as Jarl and Queen welcomed her back. “Maia was born here. I was married in the Temple here, not once but twice. That arch above us is where they hung the banner announcing to the city they’d made me Queen. Looking back, it was a foregone conclusion, but the amount of politics Madanach and I had to get involved in was ridiculous. He always liked this city though. Said it wasn’t as cold as he’d thought and he liked the sea air. But really it was because the people liked him. They thought he was a hero, and they hated Ulfric as much as he did. That was the warlord who’d killed the previous king, my first husband. He’d dethroned Madanach as well. Solitude saw him as a brutal murderer and Madanach as an avenging hero who’d made me smile again, and he wasn’t used to that at all, to people actually liking and admiring him. He’d never admit it openly but he was really touched. And here we are. This is the Blue Palace. Home.”

Solas looked up at the great blue dome of the Blue Palace, and the courtyard, extensively replanted once Elisif officially left mourning for Torygg, and now a garden for Maia to play in and for Elisif to rest in on warm summer days, and try as he might to deny it, he was impressed… and concerned. Tamriel was real, and this was one of its major cities, and Elisif was truly Queen here. This was an idealised dream vision, he knew… but Elisif’s memory was likely not wrong about her own palace. A little exaggerated, maybe, but she would not imagine architectural features that didn’t exist.

_Queen of a major city, a capital of somewhere, a port city that looks like a wealthy trading hub, and that citadel behind us looks like an imposing fortress. This is no backwater._

Solas had known she was not truly an Avvar, but he’d not foreseen this. No wonder she’d settled in to Skyhold like she had, and no wonder she’d greeted Anora like an equal.

She was ruler of a homeland that compared favourably to Ferelden in stature and might well be older. Being Inquisitor would be a return to normality, not a burden.

Solas shivered, resolving to watch Elisif carefully, because she would make a useful ally but a terrifying adversary, and he had a feeling his ultimate aims would not be ones she could ever support. But seeing all this was interesting… and he might learn something.

He stepped over the threshold… and a gloved hand grabbed him from behind, hand over his mouth, dragging him into the shadows with a knife at his throat, and he tried in vain to reach for his magic… but a feeling of calm descended even as he fought against it.

“Now now, my elven friend,” a woman murmured in his ear, sounding like Elisif if she ever turned to killing for fun, and as he glanced up, he saw blonde hair and eyes like Elisif’s smiling down from behind a red and black leather cowl. “You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Invading another’s dreams? You’re a bad, bad man.”

Solas should be fighting this, he knew. There were spells that could fight a spirit like this one… but something was sapping his will to fight. Somewhere around here was a mage, or a spirit masquerading as one, manipulating his emotions somehow and forcing an unnatural calm on him. Something making him… Tranquil??

“What are you?” he managed to get out. “A demon or a spirit?”

A pitying look as she rolled her eyes.

“I’m an assassin,” she drawled. “A very good one in life. I died though. Someone told the guards I was coming, they got the drop on me. I left my husband and my little girl behind. I don’t think she remembers me, but I’ve not forgotten. She gets her charm from her bard father… and her dragon blood from me.”

“Whereas my little granddaughter gets her magic through her father from me,” a man sounding remarkably like Madanach chuckled from behind him. “That’s my magic sapping your will to fight by the way – while your mind is aware there’s a problem, it’s not feeling the signals that tell you to do something about it. Can’t have you fighting back, can we?”

The assassin turned him around to face a man who was almost’s Madanach’s double, with blonde hair, silver eyes, and bone and fur armour that made him look like an Avvar barbarian… except shorter. He was holding a staff with a raven’s skull mounted on the end, magic flaring in his left hand, and there was very little doubt this mage had power.

“You’re Madanach and Elisif’s parents,” Solas whispered, and they both laughed.

“Yes we are,” the woman said, amused. “And my new Reachman friend here is coming in very useful. We came here to ensure spirits didn’t threaten little Maia… but we’re also very keen on eliminating threats to our children as well.”

“I’m not a man of violence,” the Reachman told him, looking almost sorry to be doing this. “I’m a teacher, a keeper of my people’s traditions. But non-violent protest got me killed. It was my son’s revolutions that really brought change.”

“And my daughter’s willingness to make deals,” the woman said, sounding rather proud. “We’re very pleased with how they turned out. We’re not having some dreamweaver who is definitely hiding something getting in her way.”

The assassin’s knife stabbed into his gut and then she snapped his neck, letting Solas fall to the floor, and if Solas hadn’t been a trained somniarus, he would have died in the Fade and his body woken with the connection shattered for good. But as it was, he reached out and was able to grasp the connection with his body just in time, waking with a start in Skyhold and staring at the roof of his sleeping quarters, seeing the murals he’d painted so far and realising that for all his experience with the spirits of the Fade, he’d never encountered ones whose reflections of dead humans were so strong they actually moved to protect their kin. He thought he knew how to distinguish between spirits and demons… but he’d never encountered spirits willing to kill for a good cause before.

It wasn’t something he wanted to encounter again.

Meanwhile back in the Fade, Sigrun Shadow-Walker watched Solas disappear far too quickly and grimaced at the knowledge he’d probably lived.

“I hate it when they escape,” she growled, and Caradach ap Cordell patted her on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I think he got the message. We warn Elisif not to trust him, and maybe she’ll take care of him back in Mundus.”

Sigrun shivered at that.

“I wanted him away from her for good,” Sigrun whispered. “If he’s truly the one the spirits of the South whisper about… he had his own realm in Oblivion down there! Raised the Veil, held all the others back, retreated to his own realm on the other side to guard them… and his power, the power he gave up to do all that, is etched into _my baby’s hand,_ Caradach! She’s going to lose that hand or her life!”

“I know, but killing the Dread Wolf won’t change that,” Caradach said softly. “I think my boy knows it too, he’ll do something about it, get another one built. Or Keirine will grow one on a pig or something. She’s a clever one, they both are.”

Sigrun smiled faintly, a Dark Sister not easily put off by Reach-magic.

“She’s still my baby,” Sigrun said softly, remembering a tiny red-haired girl kissing her goodnight before she left for that last fateful job and making her promise to come back and finish reading her the rest of the story. A promise Sigrun hadn’t kept and it clawed at her in a way none of the murders ever had.

Caradach, a man who’d held the future King in Rags in his arms and used all his Restoration skills to keep the tiny, fragile, innocent baby alive against the odds, and still didn’t see the same warlord the rest of the world did, nodded in sympathy and briefly embraced her with a kiss on the cheek.

“I will give her the warning,” he promised. “You go keep a watch for anyone else. Let me talk to Elisif.”

Sigrun nodded and slipped away, and Caradach made his way up to the throne room, where Maia had been playing with dream versions of Argis and Farkas and her new mabari, only to look up as her mother approached and promptly squeal with excitement. The imaginary Argis and Farkas vanished… although the dog remained. Interesting.

“MAMA!” Maia had cried, seeming to recognise this wasn’t exactly part of the dream. “You’re here! But… you’re different. You’re not like everything else. Except maybe Silvie.”

Silvie the dog barked once, tongue hanging out and not seeming to mind Elisif’s presence at all. She didn’t react to Caradach’s approach either, and Caradach cast Detect Illusion to confirm his suspicions. Neither Elisif nor Silvie were part of Maia’s dream. It would seem the mabari had also come to find her human friend.

“I missed you and came to find you,” Elisif told her, planting a kiss on her head. “My dream was lonelier. I had Solas to talk to but no one else. And he… was right behind me. Where’d he go? And who are… Madanach?”

“Not exactly, but do tell him I said hello,” Caradach said, smiling on the outside but on the inside remembering two small blonde twins cuddling next to him in the Warrens at night, none of them ever imagining they’d go on to conquer the Reach for their people. And this woman had been key to the whole thing, and their adorable little girl the result.

“Granda!” Maia cried, reaching out for him and Caradach knelt down to give her a cuddle.

“Hello little one,” Caradach murmured. “Why don’t you introduce me to your mother, hmm?”

“But she’s Mama,” Maia said, confused. “Everyone knows Mama. She’s High Queen and Inquisitor and she fights monsters and passes laws and saves people and she tells the best stories and she can be a bit silly sometimes but she’s still the best and I love her!”

“I love you too, little pixie, but I don’t think I’ve met your Granda before, he died a long time before you were born,” Elisif said, cuddling her little girl and kissing her… and then looking up, Nord blue eyes looking him over suspiciously. “If this really is your Granda Caradach and not a spirit who looks like him.”

And for a few moments, Caradach felt his whole self waver, it occurring to him that she might be right, and maybe he was a guardian spirit after all, taking the form of a vulnerable little girl’s dead grandfather.

Maia was staring at him, eyes widening and looking like she was about to cry, and something in her eyes reminded him of something. Of two children with blonde hair and eyes like hers, and there and then he decided it didn’t matter. He cared for this little girl, and what did it matter he might once have been a spirit of protection? As long as Maia was protected, it would be fine.

“I’m here to keep an eye on your little girl while she’s in the Fade and make sure nothing bad happens to her,” Caradach said firmly. “I remember once being Caradach of the Reach. Maybe I really am him, or maybe I’m a spirit who saw his memory among the people of the Reach. Does it matter? Your daughter will have protection regardless.”

Elisif placed a hand on the dog’s head, scritching it behind the ears.

“I think she has it anyway, but more help is always welcome,” Elisif said softly. “All right then, Caradach ap Cordell. For now, you’re welcome. Just don’t prove false. If you’re not really Caradach, your daughter and your fourth granddaughter will be coming to find you.”

A vision of two witches, one of whom was mastering the Blight itself (or trying to), coming after him was not appealing, and Caradach briefly wondered what his genes had unleashed on the world (not for the first time). On the other hand, that gave him hope. He must be really Caradach if he’d thought about this before.

“Sithis forbid we upset Matriarch Keirine,” Caradach chuckled, stroking Maia’s cheek. Maia responded by beaming and cuddling him, and while Elisif pursed her lips, she didn’t stop her. All the same, Caradach knew not to push his luck. His boy had found a formidably powerful wife, it seemed. If it meant Madanach’s future children didn’t die like Mireen’s older two had, Caradach approved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Elisif woke up, vague dreams of Solitude in her mind and knowing she’d dreamed something important nagging at her brain. Something to do with Solas. She’d spoken to him in her dream. And he’d seemed to know. They’d spoken in Haven. And then he’d tried to Shout her awake, and if she’d not been Dragonborn, it might have worked.

 _Do not trust him. He is hiding something._ Someone who looked like her husband except even less civilised had whispered that to her, and then the wolf’s heads of Solitude had shifted and gained elven features, and Elisif had shielded Maia, placing her on her mabari’s back and sending her running while she prepared to fight… and then she’d woken up. She hoped that didn’t mean she’d lost.

She needed to talk to Solas about a few things clearly. But she wasn’t in Skyhold, she was lying in a tent in the dark with a storm raging and Alistair at her back… and a hand slipping round her waist.

“Hello!” he whispered. “You’re awake!”

“I had the strangest dream,” Elisif whispered, turning round to kiss him. “Solas was in it and he was being weird and then he vanished.”

“He’s always weird,” Alistair said, grimacing. “He told me he’d seen me in memories in the Fade. I mean, what do you say to that?? I went for ‘oh’ and ‘that’s nice’ but seriously, that elf’s bloody weird. And what the hell happened to his hair.”

Elisif couldn’t rightly disagree there, but she’d not brought him. She’d brought Alistair and Blackwall, and Varric as a guide, and Dorian for magical support, and then Fiona had decided she was coming as well. Apparently she had a craving to get out of Skyhold, and when she heard that Varric’s mysterious friend wanted to meet them out in Crestwood, and had been investigating corruption in the Wardens on top of that, and had a renegade Warden contact with them with information, she’d decided to come along.

It had made the whole trip a little more awkward than it had to be in Elisif’s opinion, what with her boyfriend’s mother along and Elisif had resigned herself to Alistair and Fiona sharing a tent while she was in with Dorian (a gayer man than Dorian, Elisif had yet to encounter, so she wasn’t worried).

That had lasted two nights, and then she’d noticed Fiona and Dorian talking quietly, and then Fiona had approached them on evening three with Alistair’s things all packed and announced that if she found Alistair in her tent tonight and not in his girlfriend’s, she’d be very annoyed with him, and that she’d packed the contraceptive potions in the top right pocket of his pack. That had been the point Alistair had gone scarlet and begged her to keep her voice down, while Dorian looked smug, Blackwall roared with laughter and Varric set about taking notes.

“I will keep the noise down if you will,” Fiona said firmly, staring down her son, and Alistair had grabbed his pack, whispered ‘yes mum’ and fled for Elisif’s tent. 

“Was that really necessary?” Elisif said, frowning at Fiona, who’d taken a seat next to her, looking unperturbed.

“The boy has been making eyes at you the entire time, and I can see the way you two are acting around each other,” Fiona said, poking at the fire. “For Andraste’s sake, just share a tent and get it out of your systems. It took you twenty minutes to say goodnight to each other last night. _Twenty minutes._ Elisif, that is ridiculous. Neither of you are children, your husband’s given his consent, just share a bed like the adults you are.”

Of course, Dorian, who must have been in on this because he’d clearly moved his things into Fiona’s tent already, had to voice his opinion too.

“And it means we don’t have to watch the staring and the sighing and the holding hands and the constant litany of ‘I love you’, ‘no, I love _you!_ ’, ‘I love you more!’, ‘no I love _you_ more!’, ‘I can’t live without you!’, ‘I can’t possibly spend a whole eight hours without touching you!’ ‘how can I bear it, being parted from you for a whole night!’” 

Elisif promptly elbowed Dorian in the side, convinced that that falsetto sounded nothing like her.

“Be quiet,” Elisif ordered. “One day I shall find you a boyfriend and then we shall see who’s getting carried away with romance.”

She’d not expected Dorian to laugh nervously, the attitude fading and then everything getting rather awkward.

“Now why would you assume I’d prefer men,” Dorian said, a very strange look on his face, and while Elisif was still certain she wasn’t wrong, she was also starting to wonder if she’d not just uncovered yet another Thedosian taboo.

“Is… is that not allowed?” Elisif asked, suddenly worried. “I mean, Alistair was a bit nervous about going out with Madanach but he never said anything about two men being not allowed to be with each other. We thought it was just Alistair needing time to get used to the idea.”

“It’s fine, the Chantry doesn’t preach against it any more than it does any other kind of sex, and while nobles have to marry someone who’ll give them children, even they often have same-sex partners,” Varric said wearily. “I don’t know what Tevinter’s like, but nowhere in Southern Thedas gives a shit.”

“Orlais’s fine with it,” Blackwall confirmed. “Plenty of Orlesian nobles have got same-sex partners on the side. Dorian, mate, it’s all right. No one in the Inquisition minds if you prefer men. Except maybe all the heartbroken women who fancied you.”

That did make Dorian laugh.

“It is true, I am a very attractive man,” Dorian said carelessly. “Alas I have very exacting tastes and no one in Skyhold has as yet met them. Sorry about that, everyone.”

There was much eyerolling and shaking of the head and Blackwall patted Dorian on the back. 

“In that case, drink more! Enough of that tavern swill and you won’t care what they look like.”

“I’ll care in the morning, Blackwall, believe me. And while we’re on the subject of the beer at Skyhold, I had a pint the other night that was so dreadful, I had to keep drinking it just to persuade myself such a foul brew existed. Elisif, please, can you talk to Josephine? Get us some decent alcohol? I know your man there doesn’t drink it, but the rest of us need to forget about our troubles from time to time. You can’t deprive your hard-working Inquisition men and women of the chance to drink to forget. It’s inhumane.”

Elisif sighed wearily and promised to look into it. The dwarf who ran the tavern would likely complain, but he could hardly expect a mixed-race Inquisition to put up with dwarven tastes, could he?

That had been three days ago, and Elisif had got to spend the nights in Alistair’s arms, the two of them aware noise would carry and that Alistair’s mother was in the tent across the clearing and so having to keep it down, but enjoying the time together nonetheless, and the next day they’d ride alongside each other and exchange little smiles.

And now they’d arrived in Crestwood’s Inquisition camp, all set to press on and relieve the villagers in Caer Bronach later on today, seal that rift under the lake, and then maybe see about tracking down this friend of Varric’s.

“Who do you think it is?” Elisif whispered. “Must be someone from Kirkwall, but Varric never mentioned knowing any Wardens before.”

“Not true, that mage Anders used to be one,” Alistair said quietly. “I hope it’s not him. I really don’t think the Inquisition needs to be recruiting Thedas’s most wanted criminal.”

From what Madanach had told her, the mage rebellion whispered his name as if he was some sort of hero, but Elisif had also heard Cassandra’s grim recounting of just how many people had died in the explosion and aftermath, and Varric quietly talking about just how Kirkwall had never really recovered from the devastation.

_Perhaps when I am Empress, I will invest in that city, Akatosh knows it’s suffered enough._

All the same, Varric’s clear anger at Anders didn’t sit with Varric simultaneously offering his services to the Inquisition, and going to such lengths to protect his informant’s identity in the process.

“I don’t think it’s him,” Elisif said, frowning. “I think… oh, I don’t know. But we’ll find out.”

Of course, first there was the little matter of sorting out Crestwood’s rift problems. And dealing with a Spirit of Command who seemed to see something of itself in Elisif and Fiona both, which led to Elisif recklessly offering to help – help which turned out to be killing a rage demon down in the caverns underneath Crestwood.

“So, offering your services to a Spirit of Command, are we going to talk about what a bad idea that is?” Alistair whispered to Elisif.

“Hush, it just wants something to carry out its orders, then it’s going home,” Elisif said as she fiddled with a torch before giving up with the tinderbox and using a flames spell instead.

“And if it hadn’t been just killing a demon it wanted?” Alistair whispered, not sure she was taking this sufficiently seriously. “What if it had decided there could be only one and ordered you to kill Mum?”

“Then I’d have withdrawn my offer and killed the command demon, and you’d have helped me,” Elisif told him. “Now hush. We don’t know what’s down here.”

It turned out to be caves, filled with the dead bodies of all the people who’d drowned in the flood, and even though she’d heard the story behind that from Sera and Cicero, it was hard to look at.

“Those poor people,” Elisif whispered, feeling nauseous as she cuddled Alistair for support. “How could he do this.”

“A Grey Warden might have had to make the same decision,” Fiona said, coming to place a hand on her other shoulder, the one that wasn’t currently up against Alistair’s chest. “The Blight’s incurable – it might have been a kindness to end it for them.”

“Drowning’s not a kindness,” Elisif whispered, fighting off an old fear, of dark, cold water all around her, the breath being choked out of her and sinking down into the depths, never to be seen again, ending her life and leaving her as food for monsters. Becoming Dragonborn had only intensified it, because drowning was a death her Thu’um couldn’t save her from.

“Lyra would have owned the action,” Alistair said softly, holding Elisif to him. “She’d have separated sick from healthy, brought the sick down here and ended it with spell or blade. Then organised a burning, Chantry rites if possible. No spirits to haunt this village ten years later, and the village itself survives. And maybe they hate her for it later, maybe she has to live with this for the rest of her life, but she would have owned it. And so would you, Elisif.”

Elisif shuddered, but did not disagree, and Fiona did not argue, just rubbing Elisif’s back and quietly saying they should move on.

The caves opened into a section of Deep Roads, mercifully darkspawn free, but it did have demons, including the big rage demon Elisif had agreed to kill. Ice Form was such a help in dealing with these things, Elisif found.

After that, it was the usual slog through tunnels, killing demons, sealing the particularly persistent rift, searching the chambers for loot, and finding the exit. Another rift, and then back to Caer Bronach to deal with another rift nearby and report success to the Inquisition troops there, and start arranging for villagers to finally move home.

The keep however was worth having and Elisif wasted no time in claiming it officially as an Inquisition base, and that meant sleeping under a roof that night. It also meant a celebration of sorts, and after Elisif had had to get Varric to open a room to find a few of her agents had commandeered it already for their own little Wicked Grace game, she was soon putting it to use as a parlour for her own evening's entertainment.

Alistair sat back and watched, mug of elfroot tea in his hands and the remains of a nug stew next to him, watching Varric dealing cards and Blackwall filling his tankard, and Elisif already settling in for a drinking session that probably would last into the small hours and probably end with a giggling Dragonborn collapsing into bed alongside him and demanding a cuddle. Which always made him feel a bit uncomfortable but at least she never insisted on sex. No, just cuddling and kissing his shoulders and staring up at him, whispering that he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen and she couldn’t stop staring at him and was he real? Really real? And she could really touch him?

All right, that bit was sweet. And mostly Elisif didn’t drink a lot, but when she had something to celebrate, she’d start lining drinks up and Alistair just knew this would end badly. So he’d absented himself after a bit and gone for a walk round the keep, and in the process managed to find out South Crestwood had a bandit problem, one of the Inquisition’s agents had got captured in Orlais, another agent was due in soon with vital information, oh and there was a high dragon settled out by the Black Fens.

Alistair fingered the strange, slender, curved Tamrielic sword that Elisif had given him, a sword that shocked its enemies and was said to be particularly effective against dragons. Maybe they’d get to try it out. He’d never really fought a dragon before. Would his dragon blood help? Would Elisif’s?

He didn’t know but the idea of fighting a dragon alongside Elisif was an exciting one indeed. 

_I want to see her kill one. I want to see her run screaming into battle, slaughtering one of those beasts, turning to face me over its corpse, covered in the blood and…_

“Am I interrupting?” Dorian said cheerfully, and Alistair nearly dropped his tea, yelping as he turn round, trying to glare at Dorian while at the same time hoping the armour hid his erection and the shadows hid his blush.

“What do you want??” Alistair hissed, and Dorian actually flinched, and Alistair’s temper faded. The Tevinter mage probably hadn’t deserved quite that level of vehemence, even if he did refuse to take anything seriously.

“I was coming to tell you your mother’s putting Elisif to bed,” Dorian said, shaking himself off and composing himself, possibly seeing the contrition on Alistair’s face and being reassured by it. “She had far too much to drink, honestly it’s positively Avvar the way she knocks them back. Suddenly it’s all true Nords this, and their Thu’um is no match for mine that, and informing us that she can breathe fire as if we’re not already fully aware her voice is magic, and after half an hour of that, we all suddenly begin to realise why Maferath betrayed Andraste. If she was like that after a few drinks, no wonder he handed her over to Tevinter. Not that Madanach would do that to Elisif,” Dorian hastily added, no doubt seeing the way Alistair was staring at him. Because Madanach wouldn’t do that, Madanach needed someone to bounce ideas off and talk to and whose mind instinctively grasped all the political intricacies of a situation, and Alistair wasn’t sure he was any good at that, not really. 

Fortunately for him, Madanach didn’t seem to mind, but he wasn’t here to swiftly escort a tipsy Elisif away.

“I should probably go and check in on her,” Alistair said, and the one good thing about dealing with a drunken Elisif was that at least it put him off ever wanting to touch the stuff again. 

“You should do that, although she’ll probably stare up at you, whisper what pretty eyes you have and then vomit,” Dorian said, still smiling as he patted Alistair on the back. “Good luck, my friend. Rather you than me.”

A bit rich coming from someone who did his own fair share of drinking, and while another might not have noticed, Alistair always noticed drinkers these days, and how they drank. Bull and Elisif, they were both happy, extroverted drinkers. They drank to enjoy it, and while Bull virtually lived in the pub, and Elisif always felt she had to have permission somehow to let go, they seemed to be having fun. Whereas Borkul drank because it seemed to be expected but always seemed to be a bit dissatisfied with it, and Madanach had the same sense of alcohol being not enough too, which was why he’d sip it carefully of an evening but otherwise barely touch it. Alistair had to wonder what they were really both hungering for.

While Dorian was different again. He’d drink socially, but he’d also drink alone, and he never seemed to be having a good time. He drank like a desperately unhappy man who was trying to forget.

Underneath the surface humour was a deeply unhappy man who hated himself, and Alistair had to wonder if Dorian was really all right.

“I’ll live,” Alistair said, patting Dorian on the back. “If you ever get someone, you’ll understand.”

There it was, that was the look of pain that Dorian swiftly hid with the usual smile and disinterest. Alistair wondered just who had hurt Dorian that badly.

“Although if you’re not into romance, or perhaps your last one ended badly and you don’t want to get involved again, or maybe you had someone back in Tevinter, in which case you probably don’t want to talk about it, and I’m babbling again, aren’t I?” Alistair said, laughing nervously… but on the inside he was watching Dorian, who was frowning at him.

“You are a very strange man, did anyone ever tell you that?” Dorian said, looking faintly amused in the moonlight.

“All the time, it was the first thing Lyra ever said to me,” Alistair admitted, before wondering if Dorian had ever heard of the Hero of Ferelden in Tevinter. “You know, Warden-Commander Surana. She stopped the Fifth Blight.”

“Yes yes, believe it or not, that story did make it to Tevinter,” Dorian sighed, rolling his eyes. “You were mentioned as some sort of golden boy hero from the Chantry who’d gone to join the Wardens. No one ever mentioned you were completely bonkers.”

Alistair did laugh at that.

“They missed out the best bits then. He sounds terribly dull. Not sure I’d like that Alistair. I mean, I barely like this one but people keep telling me otherwise so I suppose I’d better not change.”

He’d barely finished the sentence before Dorian had stepped forward, one hand covering his on the parapet.

“You’re a handsome and likeable young chap, and Elisif and Madanach are lucky to have you,” Dorian said quietly. “And whatever your public image, I know you’re a good man who tries his best. The world is lucky to still have you in it. Promise me you won’t try and leave it any time soon, hmm?”

“I… promise,” Alistair said, confused but now definitely sure Dorian had troubles of his own. “I mean, I will if you will. And if you promise you’ll talk to someone on the bad days. Don’t suffer in silence.”

Dorian said nothing, just staring back at him and when he finally did speak, it was in a very careful monotone designed to conceal.

“I’m not sure what you mean, my friend.”

“I think you do,” Alistair said, squeezing his hand. “But I won’t force you to talk. And I should probably go find Elisif. Make sure she’s all right.”

“Yes,” Dorian said, sounding a little strained. “Yes, you do that. And I will see you in the morning.”

Alistair took his leave, and Dorian picked up Alistair’s almost cold mug of forgotten tea, heated it up with a little magic and took a sip.

“Disgusting stuff, Theirin, how do you manage,” Dorian muttered, but maybe Alistair didn’t feel he was worthy of anything else. Dorian didn’t quite know how to tell Alistair that he was a hero just for getting this far, and perhaps helping him feel better wasn’t his job. No, that was a job for Elisif who made his face light up without even trying, and for Madanach, who would sit with Alistair in the garden or the Great Hall and hold his hand and talk quietly for hours with him.

Dorian envied him that. Dorian would quite like that too. Dorian really rather wanted to wake up in the morning, stare at the man next to him and feel happy just to have him there. But he didn’t think it likely he’d find someone, despite half the Inquisition telling him it was fine to want sex with men.

It didn’t matter. Dorian had friends and a purpose in being here. It would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never was keen on Solas just waking you out of the dream like he does. So I'm going with Dragonborns being harder to command than that.
> 
> Next chapter, it's all back to Skyhold to see what's been happening while Elisif's away.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elisif's away and Madanach's in charge at Skyhold... and surprisingly, everyone seems to be behaving. However, Madanach's first real test comes in the form of some Avvar visitors with business to settle - and it seems these particular Avvar are kin to more than just Nords, as Madanach's knowledge of Reach-lore and Liriel's own research bear unexpected fruit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've revisited the Avvar-Nord-Reachman links from the Fallow Mire and this is the result, covering the Tyrdda Bright-Axe war table operation plus Movran's arrival. Readers will be pleased (disappointed?) to know I had him take a more diplomatic approach to the 'a redhaired mother guarantees a brat' line. I didn't fancy starting a fight with him and Madanach, or making Maia cry for that matter.

Madanach for his part was doing just fine back at Skyhold. There were orders to give, requisitions to approve, rotas to authorise, war table operations to look at, all sorts of things to do to keep him busy… and he loved it. Everyone called him sir, everyone saluted when he passed, and it was slowly dawning on him that Deputy Inquisitor wasn’t some honorary title his wife had given him to keep him busy but that it actually meant something.

Even if it did mean dealing with Orlesians. And their over the top outfits and those creepy masks and never entirely saying what they meant. Fortunately, he rarely met with the nobles without Josephine present, and Josephine assured him the non-nobles, usually merchants and traders, would forgive any minor mis-steps on the Deputy Inquisitor’s part. All the same, he made a point of bringing Maia. The presence of a small child had the ability to disarm just about everyone as they all started exclaiming how cute she was. _La petite mignonne_ , he later found out from Vivienne, was definitely a compliment.

He’d just finished talking with Bonny Simms, the Orlesian merchant queen who’d lent her entire guild’s resources to ensuring the Inquisition’s supplies and procurement needs were met, when Cassandra came running.

“Madanach! Come quickly, you are needed. An entire company of Avvar have just arrived, and they’re attacking!”

“They’re what-” Madanach began, having heard from Elisif that the Avvar were displaced Nords who recognised her as Dovahkiin, and while they might not be automatic allies, he’d also got the impression Skywatcher would be telling a story of Elisif the Dragonborn Hero, here to fix the tears in Kyne’s skin, not conquer the Avvar. And then it occurred to him that he couldn't hear the sounds of battle. No magic, no screaming, no smell of fire.

“They got to the keep without anyone bothering to tell us we had an invading army on our hands?” Madanach snapped, ready to wring Cullen’s neck if that was true… but Cassandra looked sheepish.

“It is not exactly an army,” Cassandra admitted. “We outnumber them. No doubt it was thought they were just mercenaries coming to pledge their arms to us.”

“So they, what, held their blades against a relatively easy to pillage army camp and decided to draw arms on getting to the massive stone fortress with steel gates? Cassandra, that makes no sense,” Madanach sighed, falling into step next to her, for the moment heedless of Maia glancing at Silvie and then chasing after them.

“I never said it was orthodox,” Cassandra said, scowling. “They’re attacking with a goat. We know they have mages, and they live outside the Chantry laws. Who knows what mischief they intend?”

“Attacking with a...” Because Madanach’s people kept goats as their main livestock animals, and the goats also served as watchers and pets. A community’s wealth was measured in the size of its goat flocks. You didn’t risk them in war. But if you wanted to make peace with a community, bringing one of your own goats and offering it as a sacrifice at their gates was a sign you meant no harm and wished to negotiate.

“They’re not here to fight,” Madanach realised, breaking into a run. “Where are Cullen and Josephine? We’ll need them.”

“Commander Cullen is already at the gatehouse, and we’ve sent for Josephine – there she is.”

Josephine was making her own way to the gatehouse, Borkul at her back.

“I swear, Borkul, I don’t know what they expect me to tell them about Avvar customs, because I don’t know them,” Josephine sighed. “From what I’ve heard they respect military strength above all – you’d be more likely to get a hearing than me.”

“I ain’t got the patience for negotiation, you know that,” Borkul sighed. “I let the boss handle all that – look, there he is.”

“My lord!” Josephine gasped, blushing a little and nearly dropping her clipboard. “My lord, I don’t know what you’ve been told but...”

“Band of marauding Avvar wanting a fight,” Borkul said, shrugging. “They want one, they got one. Don’t think you need Josie for that.”

“They’re not after a fight, they brought a goat,” Madanach snapped. “Come on, all of you with me, I need to talk to them.”

“A… goat?” Josephine asked, glancing at Cassandra and Borkul both. Cassandra knew no more than Josephine but Borkul wasn’t at all surprised.

“They’re prize livestock not weapons of war,” Borkul told them, managing to avoid rolling his eyes at two people who’d lived in cities all their lives. “They’re kind of currency, you know? It’s like if someone turned up at your house and started throwing gold coins at it. Sure, it _might_ break a window but you can’t call it a bad thing.”

Cassandra just grunted at him, but Josephine actually looked thoughtful.

“That makes an awful lot of sense,” Josephine sad, quickening her pace. “So we need to find out who they are and why we might be at odds with them in the first place. I have a feeling the first question may answer the second.”

Madanach was already passing through the main gatehouse, sprinting across the bridge to the outer courthouse where Inquisition soldiers were facing off against a group of Avvar warriors, who were brandishing weapons… but not actually attacking, and this despite Cullen and Knight-Captain Rylen attempting to wrestle their chief into a set of shackles.

“Stand down!” Madanach shouted. “Cullen, let him go!”

“Let him – Madanach, he’s sacrificing a goat for Maker knows what blood magic!” Cullen cried. Madanach rubbed his forehead, because while that could indeed be done, it required rituals and spells he’d be able to sense, and he was seeing none of that here. Only a goat with its throat cut, blood pooling out on the stonework.

“Cassandra, do what you can about any magic in the air,” Madanach sighed. “Cullen, he’s not doing any blood magic. I’d know if he was. This is just a ritual sacrifice, although I’m aware it’s not without meaning. Let him go and then let me talk to him.”

“On your orders, Deputy Inquisitor,” Cullen said, gritting his teeth and offering no comment on just how Madanach would recognise blood magic when he saw it. But he nodded to Rylen, and Rylen unlocked the shackles and stepped back.

The Avvar chief smirked at Cullen and Rylen both as he massaged his wrists and stood up, and after a brief nod from him, the Avvar guards, men and women both from the look of it, put their weapons away.

“My thanks,” the Avvar said, smiling and Madanach had to crane his head to look up at him. Something in the accent reminded him of Ulfric Stormcloak, and given the man was heavily bearded and looked to be about six foot four, the physical resemblance was there too. But he wasn’t wearing the clothes of a fine Nord noble, but the leather and fur you’d see more of on a Reachman… including a headdress with goat horns on it. And if Madanach was right, he shared at least one custom in common with the Reachmen too.

Madanach indicated the goat.

“You’ve come a long way to sacrifice one of your prize animals at our gates,” Madanach said, already thinking of a dozen different uses for the goat’s corpse – most of which were utterly superfluous to a well-stocked Inquisition. But the meat would do for eating, and maybe he could get one of those Orlesian taxidermists to stuff the animal and turn it into a toy for Maia to ride. “Might I know your name and business with us?”

“His name’s Movran the Under,” Cullen said tersely, indicating the Avvar chief, who spared Cullen the barest glance. “He’s the chief of that tribe that tried to kill the Herald. I imagine he’s probably here to avenge his son.”

Movran made no answer, only smirking at Cullen in a way that suggested he found Cullen's words hilarious. Madanach glanced at the goat again, wondering why a bereaved father would be here offering peace rather than demanding blood-price.

“Was it weregild you were after?” Madanach said, deliberately using the Nordic word and then revising his opinion at the confusion on Movran’s face. “You know, keteen.”   
As he’d thought, the Reachman word made his eyes light up, but Movran, despite the smile, shook his head, and Madanach guessed that he’d hardly be here sacrificing a goat if he thought the Inquisition owed him.

“Hardly,” Movran laughed. “My son lies dead but I have others, sons with brains still in their heads! My youngest was sent to fight Tevinters encroaching too close to our borders, after our augur told us they meant ill. Then he heard tales of a Herald of Andraste with the Voice of the Lady, and decided to pick a fight. Had he won, we’d have drunk to his triumph… but his failure confirms that your Herald is worthy. Tell me, does she truly have the Voice?”

“She does,” Madanach confirmed, feeling the tension relax as he realised Movran’s sole purpose for being here was to tell them ‘no hard feelings’. “She’s not here right now, she’s got business in Ferelden, but she’ll be interested to hear you visited. She knew your people were her kin.”

“I’ve got the Voice!” Maia chirped from behind him, which was a surprise to Madanach because he hadn’t realised she’d followed him… but he’d also not told her to stay behind, he realised just a little too late. So of course she’d come out here.

Movran’s eyes slid down to the tiny five year old, and he raised an eyebrow to see her there, before kneeling down to get a better look at her.

“Have you now,” he said, amused. “You cannot be the Herald. I was told she was taller. If you felled my son, then his death deserves to be forgotten.”

“No, that wasn’t me, that was Mama,” Maia said, clutching Frogella and looking a bit nervous. “He challenged her to a fight and said he’d hurt Inquisition soldiers if she said no. So she went and she took Alistair too, and Blackwall and Dorian and Varric, and they won! And she rescued the soldiers and came back to tell us all the story… only I suppose that means he’s in Sovngarde now.”

Maia looked rather awkward as she finished up, because while she didn’t really have a problem with bad people dying, it was a different matter saying this to the dead man’s father.

She needn’t have worried.

“Perhaps he is,” Movran said cheerfully. “It’s a better end than he deserved. So, you are the Herald’s Little Dragon, are you? And you have the Voice as well?”

Maia nodded, glancing uncertainly up at her father. Madanach decided to intervene at this point.

“She does, but her mother and I have agreed she mostly doesn’t use it. She doesn’t need to fight, she has us.”

Maia edged nearer Madanach, smiling up at him, and Madanach ruffled her hair. Movran saw this, raised his eyebrows approvingly, and got to his feet.

“So you _are_ her father. And the Herald’s husband. Whose orders the others follow. And yet your title’s the lesser one. He called you Deputy Inquisitor. I know enough of lowlanders to know that’s a title that answers to her. It doesn’t bother you?”

Madanach just shrugged. He’d never really seen the sense of restricting power by gender.

“Should it? She’s the one everyone thinks was sent by Andraste, no one here really trusts mages, it makes sense for her to lead and me to handle the administration in her absence. Also she can breathe fire. You don’t argue with a woman who can breathe fire!”

That made Movran laugh. 

“True enough! And my second wife had red hair too – I know what that usually involves. I hope your little one turns out wiser than my youngest did.”

From the knowing look on Movran’s face, Madanach guessed the Avvar shared the same view of redheads the Reachmen did – prone to impulsive acts and loss of temper, mainly because red hair was most commonly found among Nords.

Of course, this particular belief was spoken rather more quietly since he’d married a redhaired Nord and produced a similarly redhaired child. He’d guessed Movran had seen Maia’s hair and decided discretion might be the best possibility here.

“She’s very bright and everyone says she’s very sweet-natured. I’d say that’s mostly true, and when it’s not, she probably got it from me,” Madanach said, stepping aside and indicating for Movran to accompany him into Skyhold. “Come on, you’ve come a long way, why not stay here for a few days? Enjoy Skyhold’s hospitality. Josephine, you’ve got some empty rooms since the Fereldans left, right?”

“We do but… I confess I’m not sure what an Avvar chief would expect in the way of hospitality,” Josephine said nervously. She needn’t have worried. Movran assured his people only needed warm beds, hearty meals and a ready supply of mead.

“We can bed down in your hall,” Movran said cheerfully. “We are Avvar. We don’t need soft lowlander comforts.”

One or two of his guards sagged visibly on hearing that, but they all cheered up when Josephine assured them she could certainly guarantee a plentiful supply of ale.

“Give them the good stuff, they’ll declare war if we make them drink the dwarven,” Madanach murmured in her ear. Josephine promised to see what she could do.

And so it was the Great Hall became home to a dozen Avvar flinging bedrolls down in it, much to the horror of all the Orlesian nobles and hangers on who used the place as a social hub, and Madanach settled at a table with Movran the Under and a flagon of ale each.

“This’ll do, right?” Madanach asked, topping Movran’s flagon up. “It’s hardly Nirnroot Jenever but I’m told it’s OK.”

Movran took a swig, let out an appreciative burp and wiped his lips clean.

“Ah, that hit the spot. Your Inquisition feasts well! The gods themselves would trade Nenaroot Hjenafir for this. If only it were real. I’d trade much for a drink that sang to me.”

“I’ll get you some one day,” Madanach promised, amused. “Although singing is an overstatement. It’s just chimes. But it is real. And… you’ve heard of a plant that doesn’t grow on Thedas. A plant that’s pretty fucking difficult to miss. By the gods. You people really did come from Tamriel once. And you’ve even got a word for jenever – a Nordic word. The Nords back home never bothered adopting it as a loan-word. They just call it witch-brew.”

“Ach, tell them I’ll meet them on Hakkon’s Field over it,” Movran laughed, and then he processed what else Madanach had said. “By the Lady, you are not joking, are you. Skywatcher spoke true! You people aren’t lowlanders, are you. Not like the others. He said you were our kin from across the sea. That you spoke an ancient form of our tongue. And… Nenaroots are real??”

“They’re real,” Madanach confirmed, failing to keep the smile off his face at this point. “My son-in-law Cicero can do a pretty good impression of the chimes, although it might not be a good idea to encourage him. It gets old after the dozenth time.”

“Hakkon’s Breath,” Movran whispered, staring at Madanach and then next thing Madanach knew, Movran was patting him on the back, eyes shining. 

“Our lost kin, come to find us,” he breathed. “The lowlanders have been encroaching on our lands for years but maybe you could change that.”

“We’re not fighting Ferelden for you, we already signed an agreement with them… but we could certainly arbitrate in any disputes,” Madanach told him, sipping his wine. “And we can certainly offer trade and recognition. Think about it – the lowlanders here suddenly taking you seriously because of your Nord and Reachman kin.”

“I’m thinking about it,” Movran chuckled, hand still rubbing Madanach’s back… and then starting to move unmistakeably lower.

“Tell me, do you follow the Avvar custom of opening your bed to your guests,” Movran murmured. “My last marriage ran its course years ago, and if yours are like ours, they’re not closed to others either.”

Movran’s hand curled round Madanach’s far hip, pulling him closer, and Madanach gasped for breath, leaning back to look up at the big Avvar, lost for words as he realised he was definitely being chatted up.

It had been a long time since another man had pinned him down and fucked his arse. He’d certainly never been claimed and used by someone built like Movran. And his cock was twitching and he definitely definitely wanted to.

_Elisif wouldn't mind. She’d understand. She’d forgive me, right? She’s probably out there kissing Alistair right now._

She probably would. But the mere thought of Alistair brought other memories. Of Elisif on the last night before leaving whispering that she thought Alistair wanted to talk to him alone so why didn’t he spend the night in Alistair’s bed? She didn’t mind, she’d have him all to herself on the road, and while she’d miss Madanach, they had their bond, didn’t they? She’d still feel him.

And then Alistair gasping in surprise to see Madanach sauntering in with a washbag under his arm, but beaming in delight to see him and realise he got a whole night with him. There’d been kissing and making out and then Alistair confessing he wanted penetrative sex with Madanach but was terrified in case he hurt Madanach, and doing it the other way round was even scarier and… Madanach had talked him down from the panic attack, reassured him they didn’t have to do anything like that, Madanach would still love Alistair regardless and they were definitely still a couple, and that having or not having penetrative sex wouldn't change that, and that Alistair was all the man Madanach needed.

Alistair had pouted and whispered but he wanted to, but he was scared, and Madanach had squeezed his hand and whispered there were ways of making it so that Alistair did the penetrating but Madanach controlled proceedings, would that work?

Alistair had whimpered at the thought and Madanach had grinned, told him to think about it and maybe they’d give it a go when he got back.

And if in the interim, Madanach decided to go and get laid with another man, it would confirm Alistair’s anxieties that he wasn’t enough, shatter his ability to ever trust or believe Madanach ever again, and break both their hearts.

No sex was worth Alistair staring at him with heartbreak and betrayal in his eyes, and so Madanach shook his head and shifted away.

“I can’t,” Madanach said quietly. “I’m not free to. I’m sorry.”

Movran’s face fell as he withdrew his hand and turned his attention back to his pint. 

“I understand,” Movran said, no bitterness in his voice or resentment, merely disappointment. “Your wife would be unhappy?”

“My wife would be fine with it, probably,” Madanach admitted, not willing to lie… or hide Alistair’s existence. “My husband on the other hand is a very jealous man. Any other man had me in his bed, he’d be down there demanding their head – or other body parts. Best if we don’t. He can Shout as well.”

A little embellished perhaps, but it had the desired effect. Movran stared, slapped his thigh and roared with laughter.

“You’ve got yourself two of them??? Korth’s Bones, man, do they ever give you a moment’s peace?”

“I just keep smiling and do what I’m told,” Madanach said, grinning as he sipped his wine. “It seems to work.”

That brought more laughter and a knowing grin from Movran, and after that the tension faded as Movran put the topic aside and made no more advances, and the rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, if rather more raucously than anyone at Skyhold had really planned for. But even Avvar couldn’t drink forever, and the topic came round to if there was anything the Avvar could do for the Inquisition.

“Well, Queen Anora’s sent us this Fereldan Chantry sister who’s fascinated by Avvar culture and in particular Tyrdda’s legendary axe which she thinks she’s found the resting place of, and we’ve had one of our scholars studying rubbings of the stones in the Hinterlands that tell the story too and… maybe you could help? Wouldn’t you love to see your foremother’s resting place?” Madanach asked hopefully.

Movran had raised an eyebrow at the mention of an axe, seeming rather amused by something, but then his laughter faded as he glanced at the axe on Madanach’s belt and nodded.

“Perhaps. Tyrdda’s last hall is a secret known to few in these days. Our people might gain strength from its finding. Very well, if the expedition reports in to you. The lowlander Chantry does not get to roam our ancestral tombs unsupervised. Send scholars and soldiers of your own, and we will match them.”

So off they all set, and Movran’s people departed too, with a promise to spread the word of the Dovahkiin Herald, Blessed by Kyne, and also details of a few Venatori trails to follow, and all in all Corypheus’s agents were about to get a nasty shock in the form of clans of Avvar warriors descending on them.

It was only after they’d all left that Madanach found himself flagged down by Liriel, who’d been ensconced in the reading room in the basement for the last week, and was furious to discover she’d missed not only the expedition departure but Actual Avvar.

“Gods damn it!” Liriel sighed. “You mean they could have helped confirm my translations?”

“I highly doubt it, Movran did not bring any scholars with him and we found out not a one of them can read,” Madanach said, glancing up from the war table. “Being able to read and write is considered akin to witchcraft among Avvar. There’s a few who’ve learnt, and mages tend to get taught, but most of ‘em? Would use the books to wipe with – Liriel, stop it. It’s a perfectly normal bodily function.”

Liriel closed her eyes, seeming to flinch at the mention of bodily functions for some reason.

“You can’t treat books like that,” Liriel said firmly. “It’s disrespectful. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ve been examining the rubbings that Sister Guerrin was convinced were mostly untranslatable, and I got somewhere! Look! Have a look at this one!”

Madanach looked… and realised what Liriel was getting at. Three distinct sections, and the alphabets were not the same in all three. And while one was unknown to him, he knew the other two on sight.

“The one at the bottom is the runes associated with traditional ritual Avvar carvings,” Liriel explained. “They’re believed magical in nature by the Avvar themselves, but they’re the only thing close to an alphabet they’ve got today. Sister Dorcas is familiar with the runes and her translation would be the version of Tyrdda’s legend you’ve already seen… but she had no idea what the other bits even were, she’d never seen them before. She was fascinated that there might be unknown ancient Avvar alphabets out there.”

Madanach couldn't take his eyes off the painstakingly inked copy of the original charcoal rubbing, and saw what Liriel saw. He couldn’t read the runic section, and he couldn’t read the top section either… but he’d once had to painstakingly ink several inscriptions in the same alphabet down, working from rubbings done by his people, all the while cursing that the bloody Nord queen had better appreciate all this work, he was literally only doing this because she was pretty. And as for the second section… all Reachmen recognised those letters, even if they couldn’t read them (Madanach for one hadn’t really ever bothered, not when Keirine was always on hand to do it for him).

“How the fuck did Dovahzul and Daedric inscriptions make their way over here,” Madanach said roughly, but in his heart, both he and Liriel knew the answer. Because the Avvar’s Nordic ancestors had at least one person with them who knew the languages… or the letters at least.

“They came from Tamriel, they must have done,” Liriel whispered. “I know the dragon alphabet, if not the language, I transcribed it. And it turns out that section isn’t actually in Dovahzul, they just borrowed the alphabet because it’s easy to carve into rocks. When I started work on the first section… Madanach, the alphabet’s Dovahzul but the language is Tamrielic. An older form of it, and it’s the Nordic dialect so it’s riddled with kennings, but it’s Tamrielic, look, it reads ‘sing of the legend of Tyrdda Fire-Haft’. Or possibly Tyrdda Fire-Shaft. The ancient Nords apparently used the two words fairly interchangeably, but it doesn’t matter! The point is, we can read this! Without a translator! And a few oddities aside, it matches up with Dorcas’s version from the runes!”

Madanach felt his heart skip, because this was it, this was the proof, Dorcas had already sent a preliminary report to Anora and various other scholarly contacts including various Chantry scholars and secular ones at universities in both Orlais and the Free Marches. The fact that the untranslatable rest of it translated perfectly into Tamrielic if you knew the Dovahzul alphabet was undeniable proof Tamrielites had been here. And if a Dovahzul lexicon somehow got out to aid in transliteration efforts, it might be there were carvings elsewhere that used the same alphabet but a more modern Thedosian tongue. Either way, when Tamriel became officially known, Anora would have the proof she needed that the shared ancestors of Avvar and Fereldans came from there.

“We need to send this to Anora immediately,” Madanach realised. “Before the expedition get back. She needs to know we’ve found proof of a link with Tamriel. I can see Daedra being active on both continents and teaching the alphabet, but not someone borrowing the dragon alphabet to write in Tamrielic.”

“We found more than that,” Liriel said quietly, one hand reaching to stop his before he could pick the quill up. “I transliterated the second section too. It isn’t Daedric, it’s another language borrowing the Daedric letters, and it’s not in Tamrielic or the runic ancient Alamarri tongue. I don’t pretend to be an expert in the language in question but if I told you the first line was ‘Siara y narn y Tyrdda Tan-Rhod, mynyth lunwyr, Daidra-Briod’, what would you make of it?”

Madanach quietly cursed Elisif for not putting any chairs in this damn room, because he could feel his vision blurring and he really wanted to sit down, because this was too much. Movran knowing what Nirnroot Jenever was even if he thought it just a tale was one thing, but hearing the ancestral tongue of the Reach was something else entirely.

“Tell the tale of Tyrdda Fire-Staff, mountain maker, Daedra’s Bride,” Madanach whispered, feeling tears in his eyes at the knowledge that there had been Reachmen there too, and they’d been valued enough that their language had been included too. A version in Nordic, a version in Rhanic, and one in the Alamarri the Avvar would have spoken in their daily lives, honouring old tongues and new. “We were there too.”

_And we were allies, friends… one people. We weren’t enemies, not the ones who came here._

_We’re not fated to fight._

Madanach had never wanted to run and find his wife so much, to go and tell her they’d done the right thing, that he loved her more than ever because it turned out they weren’t the first Nord and Reachman to ally and make a success of it, and if it had happened once, it could happen again. Because Avvar dreamed of a Sovngarde with Nirnroot Jenever on tap, and they valued their mages and Movran had drunkenly told him that a short Avvar was generally held to be resistant to magic and either completely incapable of casting a spell or a bloody magical genius, which was Madanach? He’d just grinned and held up a hand with a fire spell in it, and the look on Movran’s face had almost tempted him to change his mind about that earlier offer of his… until he accidentally set fire to the tablecloth and spent the next five minutes dowsing the table in ice to get the flames out while every Avvar in the room roared with laughter and cheered. Josephine had not been pleased with him, but the keep had survived, and it had only cemented Avvar approval of the Inquisition.

The Avvar were children of Nord and Reachman, as were the Fereldans, which meant so was Alistair, which meant he was pretty much meant to be together with Madanach and Elisif, in Madanach’s opinion anyway.

But his lovers were not here which meant he couldn’t run to them and tell them, so he settled for looking up at Liriel too, seeing she was as excited as he was.

“You were!” Liriel gasped, eyes shining. “And just think, half your language has been lost to the years, think what we could reconstruct of it from these carvings alone! And if we find others…!”

The Reach-tongue could well be about to get a whole shot in the arm from this. He could hardly wait to tell Kaie. Not to mention Eola… if he could get her away from her experiments long enough.

But Liriel still looked puzzled about something.

“Tyrdda Tan-Rhod, you said it meant Tyrdda Fire-Staff,” Liriel said, frowning. “As in, a mage’s staff?? You’re sure about that?”

“Definitely, things a Matriarch might ask you to fetch for them tend to be fairly unambiguous and that particular word has survived the years,” Madanach said, and then it occurred to him that Sister Dorcas had insisted that all known translations of the story were agreed that Tyrdda’s name was Bright-Axe and that her translation definitely meant a crystal tipped axe with some manner of fire enchantment.

“Are we sure she translated that part right?” Madanach asked sceptically. “What Tamrielic word was it, shaft or haft?”

“Could be either, as I said, the Nords used the same word for an axe’s haft and a staff’s shaft,” Liriel admitted. “But if you’re sure the Rhanic version definitely means staff...”

“Of course I’m sure, we use a completely different word for axe!” Madanach cried. “Sithis, Liriel, I have to write to Anora today, tell her all this. This is what’ll prove your translations are right, us contacting Anora and the rest of the world, and pointing out the traditional translations all say axe, but ours indicate Tyrdda’s weapon was a mage’s staff. And it needs to be out there before Dorcas and company get back with the actual weapon. Which will be a staff, because look at the rest of the poem, Tyrdda talks to spirits, summons fire when she’s angry, calls lightning out of the sky to kill a dragon at one point. You might say it’s her patron spirit’s powers, but how many non-mages have one of those?? Liriel, this is the tale of a good and wise leader who was fearless in battle, did the right thing, treated dwarves on the same level as humans, saved her people, fought allies of the Tevinters who were trying to break into the Fade… and she was a mage. Sithis, no wonder the Chantry missed that, they’d have destroyed all copies if they’d suspected the truth. We need to get this out there.”

“I’ll round up some apprentices and have them scribing copies,” Liriel promised, grinning. “Queen Anora, that Kenric fellow from Starkhaven, a copy for Dorcas when she gets back, and do you think the University of Orlais will be interested?”

Given that the Chantry had tried to use the University as a scapegoat for just about anything they could blame secular education for after the Divine’s death, a practice only stopped once the Inquisition stepped in to help, Madanach decided they more than deserved to know. The fact the paper would be co-authored between the Deputy Inquisitor and an elven scholar, and the elf as first author no less, just made it all the sweeter. 

“Get a copy for Dorian as well, he probably knows someone in Tevinter who would love this,” Madanach said, gleefully contemplating the possibilities. As Liriel giggled and ran off to start arranging all this, Madanach turned his attention back to the war table. Thedas was about to get a long-needed kick up the backside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Much to do, copying to arrange and it was nearly a week of solid work before Liriel was finally finished. Madanach signed off and approved the final copies, and soon they were being sent off to various interested parties, with the authors listed as Liriel of Alinor and Madanach ap Caradach, Deputy Inquisitor, with an added note from Madanach that the Inquisitor had taken a personal interest in this and would look forward to reading the responses.

Leliana had read a copy, shown it to Josephine and both women had shaken their heads and told her they hoped Madanach knew what he was doing because the Chantry would have a fit.

Liriel didn’t care, and Madanach had just grinned and told them it was speculation at best at the present, but when the expedition returned with Tyrdda Tan-Rhod’s _mage staff,_ he’d be happy to discuss it further.

Josephine had sighed and started drafting letters telling people this was just a pet hobby of the Deputy Inquisitor’s with no supporting evidence at the present time and not to worry about it too much. Madanach had just shot Liriel a wink and told her to go and have a few days off, she’d earned it.

So she’d gone to the tavern for a celebratory drink, completely forgetting it was the de facto home of the one person she’d been trying to avoid.

“TAM! THERE YOU ARE!”

It was all Liriel could do not to turn around and run, and she couldn’t stop the panic from showing. Mercifully, Bull noticed and stopped in his tracks.

“Tam – I mean, Liriel. Er. Look, you don’t need to worry. I won’t touch you. Only… could we talk? In private? Because right now it’s awkward, and I hate when things are awkward. I mean, if you want me to leave you alone, I will, but we’re going to keep running into each other. Seems to me we should at least try and clear the air.”

He had a point. So Liriel did her best to still her nerves and followed him up to the ramparts to get a bit of privacy… but with enough people in the distance who’d come running if she screamed.

“So, what did you want?” Liriel asked, leaning on the parapet, hands together in front of her, not actually threatening but capable of casting if she needed to. “I – I’m not looking for anyone...”

“I know,” Bull said gently, standing a foot away and adopting the same position. Liriel wondered if that was part of Ben-Hassrath training, an attempt to put someone else at ease. It wasn’t entirely working but she was glad he was safely over there. “You’re _maraas shokari_. One who does not struggle. They’re considered blessed under the Qun. They’re not common, which is why I didn’t see it at first. But you’re definitely acting like one. I’m sorry, Liriel. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted you to know that we don’t have to do anything in bed if you don’t want.”

Liriel hadn’t expected to feel as relieved as she did on hearing that, exhaling without realising it as the tension fell out of her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and she was surprised to feel a little disappointment along with the relief. Because she did like him and she enjoyed his company and no one else ever gave her any trouble when he was around (although Solas didn’t approve) and there was something about those shoulders that made her want to cuddle him and not let go.

But the thought of actual penetrative sex made her feel sick inside. Even with Bull. And he probably knew that, and… he was probably letting her go, wasn’t he.

“Thank you for letting me know,” she said softly, blinking back tears. “I’m sorry I’m...”

_Not what you want. Can’t give you what you need. Broken._

A hand on her back as she turned away, gently steering her back to face him, and Liriel saw that he had a very strange look on his face that she couldn't figure out at all. 

“You got nothing to be sorry for, Tam,” Bull said, voice still kind and gentle. “And I don’t think you understood me. We don’t have to have sex… but I’d still like to see you. Like I said, _maraas shokari_ , they’re admired under the Qun. They can focus on their role without getting distracted by physical urges. Most of us can’t quite manage that, which is why there’s Tamassrans to deal with the problem. But people like you don’t need that. And that’s a good thing.”

Liriel was fairly sure she didn’t believe him. Besides, she didn’t live under the Qun, and she was more than her role anyway. She wanted someone who loved Liriel, not someone who admired the scholar.

“And that’s going to be a comfort to you when you’ve got urges and I can’t do anything about them?” Liriel snapped. “Seriously, Bull, how on earth do you think this is even going to work?? Cicero said sex is your favourite recreational activity next to drinking and killing things! Why would you even want someone who can’t give you that??”

“Because you’re awesome, Tam!” Bull cried, throwing up his hands as he let her go. “Because one minute you’re playing with Maia, and the next you’re setting fire to shit! Because half the time you’ve got your head stuck in a book, but when you start talking about your work, your face just lights up and I could listen to you for hours. Because you’re bright and you’re brave and… I just like you, you know? So how about we share a few drinks and kill things instead? And if all you want physically is kissing and cuddling, I can do that. Qunari love our friends like anyone, but we don’t have sex with them. This’d be like that.”

“A bit more than that, I’d hope!” Liriel said, surprised at herself, and sure she was blushing. Because she wasn’t that sort of elf and it’d never work, surely? He’d be off with someone else before she knew it. Wouldn’t she be better off waiting for some handsome elf with skills in magic who she could talk to about magical things and scholarships and discoveries and the like, and the sex wouldn't matter because of the spiritual connection?

_Like Solas. He could offer you that._

He could, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised she didn’t want Solas. She’d share a discovery and rather than admire her or ask her questions, he’d deftly and subtly change the subject until it came round to something he was knowledgeable on. Always he seemed happiest when discoursing on the Fade or ancient elves, and in such a way as to make it clear he was the expert here, no one else could ever have his knowledge. He’d ask about Alinor, true, but Liriel didn’t _want_ to talk about Alinor, Alinor was messed-up and dysfunctional and obsessed with elven supremacy, and the more time Liriel spent away from the place, the more she realised it was a glittering hellhole. But Solas seemed to think it was some sort of elven Utopia no matter what she told him.

_He’s the sort of partner I should want and I feel nothing for him. Whereas Bull…_

Bull was a loud, proud Qunari whose main interests were drinking and fighting, and by all right she should be repelled by him, but the thing was, she wasn’t. He made her laugh. He made her feel… something. And the Chargers liked her too. They were the only group in the Inquisition who never made her feel like an outsider.

_Bull’s a Ben-Hassrath, he’ll leave as soon as the Qun demands it. You can’t trust him._

But the Qun was far away and from what Bull had said before, he was OK with that, at least in the short-term.

So perhaps it wouldn't last. That wasn’t a reason to say no, just a reason to be careful. And Bull had laughed and put his arm round her, pulling her to him and kissing the top of her head, clearly sensing a yes somewhere in all this.

“I’m into giving my partners what they need,” Bull murmured. “Some need to be in charge, some need to give up control, some need pleasure, some need pain… and some don’t need any of that, they just need reminding to eat and drink and spend time with other people. Sound good to you, Tam?”

“I...” Liriel looked up at him, seeing scars and an eye-patch and suddenly wanting to know more about how he got them and what he’d done for the Qun. She already knew they didn’t treat their mages well.

“I’m a mage. That doesn’t bother you?”

The briefest pause before Bull shook his head.

“Nah. I mean, it’d be a problem if Thedas fell to the Qun… but I don’t think that’ll happen any time soon. Anyway, if that happened, you could go back to Alinor, right?”

Liriel wasn’t anything so sure about that. The main reason she’d left in the first place was increasing disillusion with her homeland and a growing unwillingness to just keep quiet about it all… and then a quiet warning from her brother that the Dominion higher-ups were revisiting a few wartime records, including hers, and maybe now was the time to pester their parents for a study visa in Cyrodiil. A few days later, The Beautiful had blown up an archival building in the night, and Liriel hadn’t wasted time. It had been off to Cyrodiil a few weeks later, and a few misadventures after that, she’d ended up in the Reach. She’d never looked back.

The Thalmor hadn’t seemed to be looking for her… but Liriel wasn’t taking chances.

“I don’t think I’ll be going home any time soon,” Liriel said quietly. “But there’s always the Empire.”

“Yeah,” Bull said, eyes narrowing. “There’s the Empire.”

The way he said it implied he wasn’t keen on the concept of Tamriel, and who could blame him? An entire other continent that didn’t follow the Qun either and would fight to the last. 

“I don’t think Tamriel’s going to invade Par Vollen either,” she told him. “They’re still rebuilding from the last war.”

“Not the sort of thing you should be telling the Ben-Hassrath agent?” Bull said, amused. “But don’t worry. I don’t expect this to last forever, but while it does, you’ve got me. If the Qun calls me somewhere else, I’ll tell you, but until then, I’m here.”

It was about as much as she could expect. And truth be told, Liriel was curious. What was it like, having a partner? No one had ever seriously offered before.

Taking a deep breath, Liriel leaned up and kissed Bull, lips meeting his, and Bull grinned and responded, one hand on her shoulders and one sliding down to her backside as he lifted her off her feet. Liriel gasped and broke off the kiss, clinging on to him for dear life, and Bull, damn him, laughed and put her down.

“Dinner and drinks in the tavern tonight?” Bull said, grinning. “You can tell me what you’ve been puzzling over all week. Some sort of academic paper?”

“Yes,” Liriel said, gasping for breath because despite everything that had been exciting. Damn him. “I will tell you all about it. Tonight. And if you tell me something in return. Tell me how you lost the eye.”

“I’ll tell you,” Bull promised. “Tonight.”

He kissed her on the cheek and left her to her thoughts, which thanks to Bull, were now less about Avvar history and more to do with solid muscle up against her and _hands on her backside._ Mara’s mercy, no one ever touched her there.

The fact that she wanted Bull to do it again disturbed her. Everything about this should disturb her.

But she had a date tonight, and despite her reservations, Liriel was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liriel and Iron Bull are going to be an unusual pairing but I think it could work. Next chapter is the actual date and you're getting a double-post because I wanted this section out of the way.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liriel and Iron Bull have a date! Unluckily for them, word has got around, and any hope they had of their friends not turning up to interfere turns out to be a forlorn one. But at least Sera and Cicero mean well, unlike a certain someone else whose intentions are far less benign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might have made Solas come across as a creepy dudebro. Oops. Not entirely intentional but I left it in. This was originally intended to be a Liriel/Bull/Solas love triangle, but then Liriel went ahead and made a decision, didn't she? Turns out I really can't do love triangles - they either make their mind up or they go the polyamory route...

Alas for Liriel, nothing stayed secret in Skyhold for long. Certainly not when Sera happened to see Liriel enter the tavern in recently cleaned mage robes and more make-up than Sera was used to seeing on her, and noticed Bull had recently bathed, cleaned his clothes and polished his horns (not that sort of horn, shut up), put two and two together and got gossip, and decided the best person for gossip in the whole of Skyhold, especially when Liriel was involved, was a certain Messere K. Shiv-Dark.

Said Messere Shiv-Dark was in the magical research wing of Skyhold, wringing his hands and standing suspiciously close to Eola, who was greeting a new arrival, a red-haired dwarf with a whole trunkful of shiny things. Sera’s type wasn’t normally dwarves, but this one was seriously pretty.

Eola seemed to think so too, because she was being _very_ nice to the newcomer, and Eola was never normally that nice. Eola’s default demeanour was usually creepy. And here she was chatting up the pretty dwarf.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dagna,” Eola was purring. “I’m sure we can find plenty of space for all your things – are you experimenting on red lyrium as well?? Fascinating! You and I are going to have a lot to talk about.”

Sera did not miss the way Cicero was grimacing at all this, and clearly someone was not pleased by this state of affairs. Which made two of them. Which meant Sera could ladyparts-block with impunity.

“HEY KNIFEY!” Sera shouted. “LIRIEL’S ON A DATE WITH IRON BULL! Wanna come see? Your new dwarf friend with the box of toys can come too if she wants. We can fling one down Bull’s pants if he crosses the line!”

Cicero's eyebrows shot up as he blinked in surprise… then glanced over at Dagna, then Eola, and promptly grinned.

“Of course!” he purred. “We should certainly make sure Liriel is appropriately chaperoned, mustn’t we? Come on, sweetling, if the arcanist’s arcania was going to explode, it would have done so by now. We do not need to do anything with it tonight. Come, come, the nice dwarf can walk with Sera! Sera, this is Dagna, the new arcanist and runecrafter. Nice Dagna, pretty Dagna, this is Sera, Friend of Red Jenny, and sexually attracted to ladies, and if you are in possession of shiny things that go bang, Sera could certainly find a use for _those!_ ”

Cicero promptly waved pretty Dagna over to Sera, practically beaming all the while, and Sera could have hugged the little guy. Crazy he might be, but he made a fantastic wingman. And so Sera introduced herself to Dagna, promised to give her a tour of all the interesting parts of Skyhold, and asked her what sort of runes would suit her bow and how did it all work anyway, and did her best to look as if she understood it all when Dagna explained how lyrium runes functioned. The way Dagna’s face lit up when she talked made it all worth it anyway.

Eola’s face meanwhile was less lit up, and more darkening like the Void as she pursed her lips at Cicero.

“You know, you could have just said you’re not OK with her,” Eola muttered to him, switching to Tamrielic.

“In front of her?” Cicero replied, eyebrows raised. “And cause a scene? Cicero thinks not! But seeing as you mention it… it is nothing personal, but Cicero dislikes the idea of you taking her as a lover.”

“And so you’re trying to encourage her to spend time with the famously gay monogamous Sera instead,” Eola sighed. “So that Dagna will go out with her instead and not me. Sweetie, what exactly has got into you, you’re not the jealous type! You were fine with Athis!”

Cicero fell quiet, wringing his hands, and when he spoke, it was in a much quieter tone, not at all like his usual self.

“Cicero was prettier back then.”

News to Eola, because she still thought Cicero was pretty cute. So she stroked his hair and put an arm around him and asked him what he meant.

“Cicero was prettier!” Cicero wailed, staring despairingly at her. “Cicero did not need to dye his hair or cover his face in foundation or rub anti-wrinkle cream into his face and hands every day or treat his face with herbal masks and cheese wheels on his eyes every month, or visit the face sculptor every six months to have his skin smoothed out! Cicero’s back did not ache, Cicero’s knees worked properly, Cicero was faster and deadlier and did not get hit as often in skirmishes! Cicero is getting old and ugly and Cicero _doesn’t like it!_ And Cicero is worried Eola will realise it one day, meet someone else and leave poor Cicero behind.”

He looked so miserable Eola couldn't help but feel sorry for him, and on realising the truth, she put all thoughts of Dagna aside. A fun research partner she might well be, but Sera was welcome to be the one to share her bed. 

She put her arms round Cicero and kissed his cheek.

“Oh sweetie, you should have told me,” Eola whispered. “You know I of all people would never leave you. Who else understands me like you do? Dagna’s sweet but she’s no hunter! There’s some things no one else can provide. I don’t care you’re getting older. I still love you.”

Cicero snuggled into her, brightening up on hearing this.

“Really?” Cicero whispered. 

“Really,” Eola promised, kissing him briefly on the lips and making him giggle. “Now, shall we go see how Liriel and Bull are getting on? I honestly didn’t think they’d get to the formal date stage without assistance.”

Cicero hadn’t thought that either, and he was keen to ensure Liriel had freely agreed to this, and agreed to the same thing Bull had too. So off they went to the tavern to see just what was happening.

What was happening was Bull and Liriel at a table in a corner of the tavern, Bull pouring Liriel a glass of wine as she sat down nervously.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Liriel admitted, feeling her cheeks blush.

“If you mean, take someone out to wine and dine them, I don’t make a habit of it either,” Bull confessed in turn. “But you’re different. Special.”

Well obviously, Liriel might not look at people and lust after them, but she knew men frequently lusted after her. All the same, she had a feeling that wasn’t what he meant.

“Special how?” Liriel asked. 

“Special because you’re the nearest thing to another Qunari I’ve met out here,” Bull said, grinning. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a high elf, I know. But you’re not like the elves round here. Your ears are a different shape. They’re Qunari shaped. You’ve got that different skin colour, it’s more like what you’d see on one of us. And like I always said, you remind me of a Tamassran. You’re a scholar, and a teacher too. I’ve seen you training up apprentice mages, and I’ve seen you giving talks to the elves round here too. And you definitely don’t react to humans like they do. You don’t treat them like they’re the ones in charge or a master race or anything.”

“They’re not,” Liriel said, and despite everything, Thalmor conditioning didn’t go away that easily. “We’re the first children of the Aedra. We were here first. Or… so they say back in Alinor anyway. I don’t know how true that really is. But just because I don’t think humanity’s destiny is to be the Dominion’s slaves, doesn’t mean I think it’s my place to be theirs.”

“I noticed!” Bull laughed, before inclining his head at the mention of the Dominion. “Wait, your homeland has slaves?”

“Not officially,” Liriel admitted. “But it was finding out that most of our servants weren’t actually paid that made me want to leave. That and the war. I went home again after serving in it, tried to go back to the life I had before, but I couldn’t, you know? You can’t just see the things I did, realise what your country’s actually capable of, and just go back to the way you were. I had to get out of there, and eventually I did. I don’t regret it. If the Thalmor ever lose their grip on the country, maybe I’ll go home one day. For now, the Reach is home. Well, I suppose Skyhold is at the moment.”

“And I’m glad you’re here,” Bull said, smiling. “I know what you mean about home not feeling like home any more. I served in Seheron – it’s contested territory between us and the Imperium, and there’s also our own rebels and a native insurrection movement. Place is like a tinderbox and there’s something going off every week. I was out there best part of a decade, saw horrors you wouldn’t believe, until I finally cracked. Turned myself in to the Ben-Hassrath for treatment. They sent me out to Orlais. I’ve not been back home in years. It took a lot of getting used to but I’m having a good time. The Chargers are like a family to me.”

“But you’re still a loyal Qunari,” Liriel noted. It wasn’t the first time they’d discussed the Qun. Liriel had been curious about the not-quite-Orcs from the tropical north and bombarded Iron Bull with questions. Some of them, particularly the ones about Qunari mating customs, had been more information than she’d been prepared for, but she had enough information for an entire chapter on the Qunari by this point. Enough to understand most of the terminology. “You’re not Tal-Vashoth.”

“No,” Bull admitted. “I still serve the Qun out here. Right now, my orders are to stay here and send reports, and serve the Inquisition in the meantime. But one day that might change. All I can promise is I’ll tell you if things change. Can’t see that happening before Corypheus gets defeated. Way I see it, Elisif's your best hope for fighting him.”

Liriel didn’t disagree there. Elisif and Madanach had fought a civil war, and Elisif and Madanach’s son had gone on to kill a dragon-god. If anyone could fight a primordial darkspawn, it was the Queen of Skyrim.

All the same, that didn’t erase the fact Bull served the Qun and was only an ally for now. 

“And after that?” Liriel asked. “When Corypheus is gone? Are the Qunari planning to invade the rest of Thedas? And what about Tamriel?”

“I don’t know, Tam, the top brass don’t tell me these things!” Bull sighed. “Most of our military is tied up fighting the Vints anyway, we don’t have the resources to invade without cause. There was some fear that we might need to to stop Corypheus, but it looks like Elisif’s made that not a problem. I already told them the Inquisitor was a seasoned warrior and capable leader who had as good a chance as anyone. I have a feeling that when she’s done, Southern Thedas will be a completely different place and stronger than it’s ever been. I think that might be a good thing. Don’t think the Ben-Hassrath will, but it’s not in their interests to stop it. Not yet.”

“Because it’d make it harder to convert us all to the Qun,” Liriel said bitterly. “You can’t look at Skyhold and think it’d be better that way, surely?”

Bull didn’t answer at once, looking at the floor, his expression one of sadness. When he finally did speak, Liriel got the impression he was choosing his words very carefully.

“It’s not all bad, Liriel. The Qun’s a good life, for a lot of people. But it’s a big change from what people here are used to, and a lot of people wouldn’t do so well. Cassandra and Cullen would be all right, if they didn’t die fighting. Those two love rules. And Josephine would survive. The Qun always needs skilled administrators. Leliana would make a good Ben-Hassrath, but I don’t think she’d ever forswear Andraste. But they’d kill Cole, because you know, demon, they’d probably execute Cicero because he’s just too dangerous and unpredictable, that’s if he didn’t die fighting after they inevitably execute Eola and burn all her research. Sera would probably end up with her mind broken, sweeping floors somewhere, and as for the mages, well. Dorian’s too arrogant, Vivienne too political, Madanach far too likely to be organising and leading a resistance to be allowed to live, and little Maia… who knows. They wouldn’t kill a child, I don’t think, but she’ll never submit to the Qun if it kills her parents. And Elisif will never give in. Sure, she’s polite enough to me, but I know her thoughts. She heard that we don’t have families and her eyes just went cold. Might be different if she didn’t have a kid but she’ll fight to the death to protect hers. Never mind if other people’s kids suffer as a result. Maia gets the world, and Elisif’s judgement’s compromised by it.”

Liriel really couldn’t agree with that one.

“It’s perfectly normal to want to protect your kids, Bull,” Liriel said, remembering her own little sister and knowing there was no way she’d let anyone hurt little Cali.

“I know,” Bull sighed, reaching out to take her hand. “Thing is, under the Qun, they’re all our kids. We don’t know the parentage of anyone, so we care for all of them.”

“And you don’t marry anyone because forming exclusive attachments makes you less loyal to the Qun,” Liriel said, recalling what he’d told her before. “And yet here you are with me.”

“It’s a date, not a marriage proposal,” Bull protested… but then he did smile. “Look, you’re cute and you’re bright and you make me think. I’m still Qunari but it’s good to be reminded there’s other ways of seeing the world, you know? I can’t promise you forever, but who can? Either one of us could die doing something dangerous for the Inquisition any time. Like fighting Vints or demons or Red Templars or dragons or something. Hey, I heard there’s dragons out in Ferelden. Think Elisif will want to go practice on one at some point? I’m in if you are! I bet you could take down a dragon!”

His confidence in her was rather endearing. Liriel had gone out of her way to avoid the Tamrielic variety. Just because she could fight, didn’t mean she necessarily wanted to. All the same, there was something about Bull’s hopeful face she couldn't quite say no to.

“Not on my own,” Liriel said primly. “But… I suppose if you and the Chargers were there, I could lend magical support.”

“YES!” Bull roared, hand slamming the table. “You and me, fighting dragons! We’ll show them! When the Chargers get back from scouting Haven. Or… wait, Cicero! Want to kill a dragon? Eola can come if she likes!”

Cicero had walked in with Eola on his arm, both looking surprised to hear Bull was planning a dragonslaying mission… but in all honesty, not shocked.

“Well, I do have experiments… but I don’t need to be there in person, I just need someone to observe and take notes, and now we’ve integrated the mage rebellion, it turns out I can requisition their apprentices and Tranquil if I need help,” Eola said thoughtfully. “I might need to ask Bethany to keep an eye on things if Liriel’s going – you are going, aren’t you.”

“Looks like it,” Liriel admitted. “I mean, I’m not really a warrior but… Cicero, stop that.”

Cicero looked frankly disbelieving on hearing that.

“Liriel was part of the Aldmeri army when Cicero first met her, and he has seen her kill lots of things!” Cicero cooed. “Liriel can manage a dragon! Cicero will help too. Cicero’s stabbed plenty of them.”

“How’d you stab a dragon?” the red-haired dwarf who Liriel hadn’t been introduced to asked, fascinated. And then she noticed Liriel and her eyebrows shot up.

“Oh _wow,_ are you an elf? Or… a lady Qunari? I don’t think anyone’s ever seen a lady Qunari before! My name’s Dagna, I’m the new arcanist, I am so pleased to meet you!”

Before anyone could stop her, Dagna the new arcanist had grabbed a chair and sat next to Liriel, eyes shining as she stared up at her, eager for new knowledge, and it was a good thing for everyone that Liriel wasn’t into women either. 

“I am so sorry,” Liriel whispered to Bull, because clearly Dagna had not realised she was datecrashing.

“Ah, it’s fine, how often do you meet a High Elf for the first time,” Bull said, amused. “Knock yourself out, Tam. Tell her all about yourself.”

Liriel looked at no less than four people all watching her and Bull, and mentally consigned the idea of dinner for two to the bin… for now.

“I guess we have company after all,” Liriel sighed. “All right, gather round, we’ll get some drinks. But when we do this dragon-hunting expedition, you lot are coming with me.”

“Awesome!” Dagna whispered, eyes lighting up, and amazingly Liriel was able to turn the conversation off High Elves and on to dragons instead, with Sera and Dagna in particular enthusing about how they’d go about killing one, and then Bull getting in on the act by adding that there was a story back in Par Vollen that the Tamassrans had tried to breed dragon blood into the Qunari, and that’s why they had horns.

Laughter all round, but Liriel knew that dragon blood was a real thing, and it was probably just a coincidence… but she caught Eola’s eye and had to wonder. Did someone in the Qunari know what a Dragonborn was? How? Had their ancestors come from Skyrim as well?? Liriel couldn’t think how – were they related to Orcs? Dunmer? Dremora even? Were they even mutated High Elves? Bull had seemed to see a kinship somewhere, and trying to breed a Dragonborn for themselves was something the Thalmor might try.

_If only I had access to Qunari blood, Altmer blood, Orc blood and a talented blood witch._

A project for another time maybe. Something to think about. For now though, Liriel smiled and sipped her wine as she watched Sera drink her own body-weight in ale and loudly claim she’d fight any ruddy dragon and kick it in every ball it had, which was all the funnier because it turned out high dragons didn’t have them.

Liriel giggled and glanced at Bull, who grinned back and glanced down at her hands, before carefully moving his over and brushing his knuckles on her arm.

Which was unexpected… but not unwelcome. Liriel reached out and curled her hand round his, suddenly smiling and not knowing why. And Bull actually seemed to go a bit pink, looking rather awkward but not letting go.

Tonight wasn’t going how she planned but she was having a good time. And as Cicero and Dagna were talking explosives, and Sera was extolling the virtues of dowsing oneself in alchemical fire, and Eola responded by flicking her fingers and pointing out there was a perfectly good spell for that already, Liriel smiled at Bull and realised she’d rather be nowhere else.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Late that night, and Bull insisted on walking her back to the library.

“I think I can make it across Skyhold courtyard without incident,” Liriel told him, and Bull shrugged, looking a bit awkward. 

“I know, but I was hoping for the just the two of us and know you were too, and instead we get the two hyperactive children plus the new arcanist who is cute but you just know is gonna be trouble, and Eola the Creepy Mage who is the reason the Chantry came up with Templars,” Bull sighed. “Least I can do is escort you back to your quarters.”

Liriel had felt herself blushing and accepted, walking alongside him, and if he looked a little awkward as her fingers entwined with his, he didn’t stop her. 

“I had a good time tonight,” he told her, stopping in the library hallway. “Despite, you know, our friends pitching up.”

“They mean well,” Liriel told him. “I think Cicero just wants to make sure you don’t hurt me.”

“He’s a smart man. And a loyal one,” Bull said, approving. “But he was wrong in this case. We don’t hurt our sexual partners unless they want us to. We don’t do anything to anyone in bed that wasn’t agreed on. You’re safe, Liriel.”

Liriel smiled, believing him. And so she reached up and kissed him on the lips, feeling him respond and realising she was quite enjoying this kissing thing at least, and he seemed to be too, judging from the way he was pulling her closer, picking her up off the floor and sliding his hand to her backside again. He really did seem to like doing that. Liriel wondered if she should tell him to stop but it wasn’t unpleasant so perhaps this was fairly standard behaviour. In which case she should probably reciprocate?

Bull let her go, lowering her to the floor, and as she got back within reach, she let her own hand slide downwards and experimentally squeezed his backside.

To her surprise, Bull actually yelped, a very strange look coming into his eyes. Liriel immediately let him go, feeling a blush coming to her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, horrified. “I didn’t mean… I won’t do it again!”

“It’s fine,” Bull gasped, sounding almost strangled. “I just wasn’t expecting… and not so hard, next time?”

“OK,” Liriel whispered, mortified. And then it occurred to her that that hadn’t actually been a no. “Wait, next time?”

“Sure,” Bull managed to get out. “I mean, yes ma’am – I mean, Tam, I mean – I should, er, get going, right? Let you sleep?”

“OK,” Liriel said, now completely confused, and she wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not… but Bull leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

“Come fight that dragon with me, yeah?”

Liriel nodded and watched as Bull left, feeling strangely excited by the way this was going… at least until Solas dropped down almost noiselessly from the nearby scaffolding.

Liriel spun round, face going scarlet as she realised he must have seen that whole thing.

“Solas!” she gasped. “I didn’t know you were there. Were you… watching?”

Why she was the one feeling guilty over this, she had no idea.

“I saw,” Solas said, his eyes hooded. “You and that… Iron Bull.” He practically spat the name out. “You’re involved with that Qunari??”

No point denying it at this stage.

“Yes,” Liriel admitted, again wondering where the guilt came from. “I mean, it’s early days yet but… Solas, what?”

He’d gone an interesting shade of purple and his face was twisted into a snarl.

“You’d give yourself to him?? You, an Evanura incarnate, would defile yourself by being intimate with someone barely above the levels of a beast?”

“Don’t call him that!” Liriel cried, not caring her voice was echoing, because he’d sounded exactly like her mother in that instant, criticising the child of colleagues of hers who’d been found sleeping with one of the Khajiit labourers hired to build their new swimming pool. “He’s not an animal, he’s a person!”

“He follows the _Qun!_ ” Solas snapped. “It is an empty, nihilistic, monster of a creed that despises individuality and enslaves all who submit to it. His ultimate loyalty is to it, and it teaches that all non-Qunari are little better than things! For as long as he is loyal to it, he does not, _cannot,_ love you! The Qun doesn’t even have relationships, does it?”

No it didn’t, and this sounded more like what part of her had been whispering to her all along. Mara’s mercy, what was she thinking?? All the same, she didn’t want to admit this to Solas.

“You don’t know him,” Liriel whispered, tears in her eyes as she felt her throat close up.

“Nor do you,” Solas said gently, coming to stand closer to her. “Liriel, this will end in disaster, you must see that. Tell him there won’t be another date. It’s not too late to save yourself.”

“I...” Liriel whispered, because Solas was right there, expression turned to one of kindness and understanding and maybe he was right, maybe she should give this up, maybe she’d be happier without Bull.

She was almost about to break and end up crying on Solas’s shoulder when the sound of heels on the steps to the library rang out.

“Liriel, darling, there you are! My dear, I urgently require your opinion on this tome on the origins of Knight-Enchanter magic, I strongly believe Deschamps is letting his passions sway him rather than the evidence but need someone to go over the text with me and confirm my suspicions before I set him in his place, and you’re the only other one in Skyhold who can master a spirit blade.”

Solas growled under his breath and glared at Enchanter Vivienne as she sauntered downstairs and into the room, apparently heedless of what she might be interrupting. 

“Enchanter, it is the middle of the night and Liriel is in a state of some distress,” Solas said tersely, folding his arms and carefully positioning himself between Liriel and Vivienne. “Now is hardly the time to be bothering her with some arcane query on a subject I’m sure you already know inside and out.”

“Given Liriel’s usual studying habits, the middle of the night is when she usually gets most work done, and she seemed quite cheerful on the way back from the tavern with the Iron Bull,” Vivienne said sweetly. “She only seemed to become distressed when talking to you. A coincidence, I’m sure. Liriel, darling, come with me, when you’ve read this, you won’t have a thought left to spare for your current troubles, I assure you, you’ll be too busy ranting about Marcel Deschamps’ contempt for scholarship to have time.”

Liriel’s eyes fell on Solas, standing as an unasked-for protector, and then it occurred to her Marcel Deschamps was an alchemist with no interest in anything as militaristic as Knight-Enchanter techniques, and who’d more than once written in the forewords to his books that mages would be better off focusing on the physical rather than conjuring spirits, and that one of those books had been a copy Vivienne had donated to the Inquisition library. A personal one, autographed by Marcel himself, who’d seemed overwhelmed the First Enchanter of Montsimmard had taken an interest in his work, and full of Vivienne’s own annotations.

Vivienne was not only lying, she also knew Liriel would likely realise it and that Solas, with his relative disdain for human mage scholarship, wouldn’t have a clue.

“You know, I could use a distraction,” Liriel said, forcing a smile to her face. “Alright, Enchanter, lead the way.”

Vivienne smiled, holding out an arm to Liriel and only pausing briefly to shoot Solas a smug sneer of victory before sweeping Liriel upstairs. Whereupon she promptly cast a muffling spell to discourage eavesdroppers both mundane and spiritual, and let Liriel pretty swiftly to her own sitting area overlooking the Great Hall.

Liriel took a seat on one of the gilt edged Orlesian chaise longues, wondering what this was really about. Vivienne settled gracefully into the one opposite and set about pouring two glasses of wine and handed one to Liriel.

“Now then, my dear,” Vivienne said, her voice oddly gentle. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Are you all right.”

“I think so,” Liriel whispered. “Was he right? Solas, I mean. Should I leave Bull? He’s a Qunari. They don’t do relationships, do they? And if the Qun calls him, he’ll have to go.”

Vivienne pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes and clearly considering this very carefully. When she finally spoke, it wasn’t an answer Liriel had expected.

“Darling, if Qunari truly didn’t have romantic relationships, there wouldn’t be so many rebels, would there. Perhaps it is forbidden, but when has that ever stopped anyone. I assure you, I don’t believe Bull is any different in that regard to anyone else, and Par Vollen is very far away. You’re right here.”

Liriel gasped, looking up to see Vivienne smiling knowingly, and she realised that Vivienne, if pushed for an opinion, actually wasn’t opposed to the idea of her and Iron Bull being a couple.

“You… don’t mind me going out with Iron Bull?” Liriel said, bewildered, and Vivienne rolled her eyes.

“Darling, it’s hardly my business who you go out with,” Vivienne laughed. “I have no interest in the matter either way. My affections are engaged elsewhere, and I have no interest in women anyway. No, my dear, my intentions are largely disinterested… but not entirely. When considering a pairing, one must always give thought to what each party is bringing to the table, how each can help the other further their aims… and any potential liabilities the other party might be bringing. Now as for yourself, you bring considerable personal charm and intelligence and you’re a mage of no small talent. Perhaps you don’t bring wealth, but you have influence with the Inquisitor and Deputy Inquisitor. How stable this is might be a problem long-term but for now, your star is rising. Your being an elf might disadvantage you in human society, but your current suitors don’t have to worry about that. And so we turn to them.”

“Wait, you’re just considering this like a business alliance??” Liriel interrupted, feeling appalled by this concept. “Don’t feelings matter?”

“Perhaps, but feelings can change, your potential lover being a useful asset hopefully will not,” Vivienne purred. “Anyway, if your feelings were clear-cut we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we, my dear?”

Liriel had to admit that was true… and wasn’t she maraas shokari? Apparently not someone driven by feelings, although it wasn’t entirely true. She did care for Bull although she wasn’t remotely sure about anything physical. All the same, she could use some advice, and Vivienne seemed rather less biased than anyone else.

“All right, what about Bull,” Liriel sighed. “You must have some opinions.”

“Of course, darling,” Vivienne smiled, setting her goblet of wine down. “Bull is very easy to read when you know what to look for. He’s a man of simple tastes, and he’s always been very open about who he is and where he’s from. We know he’s a Qunari agent and his ultimate loyalty is to them… but we also know the Qunari as a whole are mostly just observing for now and day to day, no one is supervising him that closely. Which is where your advantage lies.”

“Advantage how?” Liriel asked, because in her mind, this was precisely the problem, wasn’t it??

“He likes you and is willing to admit it,” Vivienne said, only rolling her eyes in exasperation a little. “Even going out on formal dates with you, which is more than I’d thought him capable of. You have influence. He has a loyalty to you which he’s got to few others outside his mercenary band. Your problem is ensuring that when push comes to shove, his loyalty to you overrides his loyalty to the Qun. Happily, you’re also in the best position to help bring that about.”

Liriel couldn’t begin to imagine how, and she asked Vivienne this. Vivienne sighed and leaned forward, as if explaining to a particularly obtuse apprentice.

“Under the Qun, Qunari men are in thrall to these Tamassran women. They raise them, educate them, decide their job for them, pick breeding mates for them and provide an outlet for their sexual urges. Bull’s no exception. He once accused me of trying to manipulate him by increasing my height with heels and by wearing headgear that resembled a Tamassran’s horns. I wasn’t, not that time, but nevertheless it gave me an insight. You’re already far further along that route than I am. What you need to do is keep reinforcing that idea. Make him see you as a Tamassran, make him forget completely that loyalty to you and loyalty to the Qun are two separate things. If he has the two conflated, it’ll make it very hard for him to ever turn on you.”

Make him see her as a Tamassran. Easier said than done, particularly as that might well involve strange Qunari sex rituals at some point, and Liriel just couldn’t even begin to think about that. But it was possible that she could do something. He’d seemed to like her taking the initiative. And… horns. Well. Maybe she could do something about that. Maybe.

“You’re seriously in favour of me and Bull?” Liriel asked, wondering all of a sudden what Vivienne’s interest in all this was. “Why?”

“Because while he’s not my type, I’m fond of the man, and don’t think it hasn’t escaped me that his loyalty to the Qun might prove a problem one day,” Vivienne said, actually looking sad at the thought. “Any steps we can take to nullify that and thus safeguard ourselves are worth taking in my opinion. Therefore I decided to involve myself. Also I saw you two from the balcony on the way back from the tavern and you seemed happy. I’m hardly one to counsel the end of a happy relationship when there are benefits yet to be reaped, am I?”

Liriel shook her head, sipping her wine and wondering just what it was like in Vivienne’s mind. It must be all cogs and calculations, like a Dwemer machine devoted to social machinations. Still, it was a useful resource to have. She supposed.

“Solas won’t like that,” she said, already wondering how to break the news to him. “He thinks Bull’s little better than a beast.”

“Do you?” Vivienne asked, and Liriel shook her head. 

“Of course not!” Liriel gasped. “I – I like Bull! And people back home, they say that sort of thing about humans, but they’re not beasts, they’re people. I left home to get away from that. I didn’t think I’d find it again here.”

Vivienne had narrowed her eyes on hearing this, something about this clearly getting to her.

“There are people everywhere who will find the pettiest of reasons to look down on others, my dear,” Vivienne said sadly. “Here it is humans looking down on elves. In your home, it is the other way round. And if there were no elves, they would look down on other humans. Maybe they would use skin colour as the dividing line. It is our burden to bear, my dear. All we can do is rise above it. Be better than them, excel beyond doubt, do not let them hold you back and ignore the whispers as best you can. And in case I’m not being clear enough, that means do not trust Solas. He seems to think the world would be better if the Veil were taken down and demons wandered freely. And while a concern for the wellbeing of other elves would be commendable, have you noticed how he’s obsessed with making everything like it was in a mythical Arlathan he can’t possibly remember personally, and yet utterly unconcerned with the plight of elves presently alive? He seems to think the Dalish are children and the city elves barely worth bothering with. Now here he is calling you an Evanura incarnate and seeming outraged that you’d consider sullying yourself with a mere mortal. I can only assume he’s seen visions of the elven gods in the Fade and they resemble your people, and he’s developed… obsessions. You need to be careful, Liriel. You could be in danger.”

“He wouldn't hurt...” Liriel began before starting to wonder. He’d been truly angry at her and Bull being together… and he’d stayed quiet until Bull left and only then emerged, when he was alone with her in the dark. Liriel shivered and realised she had no way of knowing that he wouldn't hurt her.

“What do I do?” Liriel whispered. “I’m not interested in Solas! How do I get him to leave me alone??”

“You do nothing,” Vivienne said, eyes narrowing. “You continue seeing Bull and you avoid being alone with Solas. And if he keeps bothering you… I would expect you to do whatever you must to defend yourself. Do not worry about retaliation. Solas’s only known connections are with the Inquisition. He seems to have little in the way of friends, family, any traceable background from before his arrival with us, don’t you think that odd, Liriel?”

Now that she mentioned it, it was very suspicious.

“Do you think he’s hiding something?” she whispered.

“We’re all hiding something, my dear, but he’s hiding rather more than most, I think,” Vivienne said thoughtfully. “Well, we have no evidence… yet. But speak with Bull about him, see if he can arrange for protection. He cannot be everywhere, but his Chargers don’t have that problem. Krem’s due back from the ruins of Haven within the week. And in the meantime, don’t think I didn’t notice Madanach’s fond of you. I’m sure he can help. I’ll be sure to stand as witness that Solas was cornering you alone and making threatening remarks.”

Liriel hadn’t expected that, in fact this whole conversation was completely unexpected. She hadn’t thought Vivienne even liked her. But here was Vivienne offering advice, and when the conversation wound down, Vivienne walked her back, not to her own room but to the Chargers’ vacant accommodation, and merely observed she’d get Madanach to put an extra bed in here in the morning, and help Liriel move her things.

Liriel thanked her and settled into Dalish’s empty bed, feeling profoundly relieved at the thought of being safe, protected, not needing to worry about Solas or what he might think or do. He wasn’t her lover, never had been. It was really none of his business.

All the same, she hoped Madanach was fond enough of her to lend her a couple of guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne is really growing on me. I mean, seriously growing on me. On the outside she's this scary mage and then every now and then you get glimpses of a human being with a heart. She's a lot of fun to write.
> 
> Next chapter will be back in Crestwood, and it introduces Hawke! I think you'll like Hawke.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting with Varric's contacts provides information that appalls everyone, but opens up a new lead in the war against Corypheus. However, it also stirs up Alistair's worst memories and worst traits, as the man that sent him into exile once before might be about to do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here Lies the Abyss is finally under way! Hawke's here, along with her Warden friend... and a certain someone else. You'll see. Warning for swearing, bickering, sexual references, Alistair not getting on with Hawke and REALLY not getting on with her Warden friend. I also dug into Thedosian dragonlore a little.

“They should be right around here,” Varric said, leading the way through the fields south of Crestwood. They’d already killed a dozen bandits, settled a new Inquisition campsite, and sealed a Fade Rift that morning. Now to find this mysterious friend of Varric’s.

“There, what’s that.” Blackwall pointing out a human figure lying unmoving on the ground, and as Elisif neared it, seeing Inquisition uniform and blood on the grass and knowing that the Inquisition was down an agent, shouts rang out and Red Templars swarmed from the undergrowth.

“Inquisition to arms!” Elisif cried, alarmed. “FUS RO – agh!” 

A Red Templar shield hit her in the face and sent her reeling, the Jagged Crown absorbing the worst of the shock, but it left Elisif down and vulnerable. At least until Alistair sprang over, his own Thu’um shattering the Templar ranks as he went for the one that had hit her.

“Not that one, lad, go for the big one – Maker’s Breath,” Blackwall sighed, who gave up trying to talk sense into a battle-raged Dragonborn and set about drawing the fire of a few of them who were going for Varric and the two mages. Fiona was concentrating on keeping a barrier over her son, while Dorian was trying something complicated involving fire runes and a horror spell.

Varric was the only one keeping his head under pressure, throwing some frost mines at the knot of Templars all charging at Alistair, then taking shots with Bianca. Elisif staggered to her feet, downing a regeneration potion and trying to shake what might possibly be a concussion, and looked around to see how to help. And while normally she could see a way, her brain wasn’t functioning properly and she was dizzy and…

“Hold still,” a man whispered, and she turned to see a figure creeping out from behind a rock, placing a finger to his lips. He had shoulder-length reddish-blonde hair, amber eyes, pale skin, a hood shadowing most of his features… and a mage’s staff in his hands.

Magic flared and healing magic flowed through her, like Restoration magic but more intense, voices in her ears whispering soothing things and her aches and pains fading away. 

Elisif opened her eyes and realised she was fine.

“What did you do? Who are you?” she gasped. The scruffy healer mage just grinned. 

“Best you don’t know. But you’re welcome. Go help your friends.”

“Right,” Elisif said, turning back to the battle, just in time to see some sort of alchemical flask shattering above the Templars, and all of them staggering back, dazed. Alistair also seemed somewhat affected, although he recovered faster and started hacking into one of the Templars while it was vulnerable.

And then Elisif saw the one who’d thrown the flask. A human woman with pale skin and blonde hair with dark roots, a distinctive blood stripe across her nose, and red and black armour with pointy shoulders.

“COME ON TEMPLARS, I MUST HAVE KILLED A DOZEN OF YOU BEFORE NOW!” she roared. “FACE ME LIKE MEN! ESPECIALLY YOU AND YOU!”

She leapt forward and darted past one, then another, slapping some strange marks on their shoulders before rolling forward with daggers outstretched in a fluid move reminiscent of Cicero in his prime. Trained assassin most definitely.

“Do you know who she is?” Elisif started to say to the healer mage, before realising he was gone. Which was… right, that was odd and disconcerting. But she had other things to worry about, such as mopping up the casualties before Alistair and this assassin did.

“MUL QAH DIIV!” she Shouted, feeling Dragon Aspect flare into life, dragon power enhancing her skills, and she charged into the fray, her shield bashing into one and sending it flying, even as Dawnbreaker carved another in two. The assassin actually squealed. 

“Fabulous!” she laughed, as Elisif beheaded the last Templar and sent its head flying over the nearby cliffs. “What did you do? Are you a dragon shapeshifter?”

“Not exactly,” Elisif admitted, and the assassin actually pouted.

“Oh. That’s a shame. That would have been _awesome!_ But you did literally just carve a Red Templar in half, which is fucking brilliant, scuse my Orlesian, and… VARRIC! You made it! I was starting to think you’d got lost!”

“I never get lost!” Varric protested as he put Bianca away and ambled up, arms outstretched. “I just… occasionally take us on detours. Hawke, this is Her Inquisitorialness, Elisif Herself, along with Grand Enchanter Fiona of the mage rebellion, Dorian Pavus the Nice Tevinter, Warden Blackwall, and the Official Inquisitorial Plaything, Alistair Theirin. Who you and I met a couple of times, remember?”

“Remember? The rumoured Fereldan royalty who Isabela reckoned was the best lay in Kirkwall?” Hawke grinned, eyeing Alistair up rather too keenly for Elisif’s liking. “How could I forget. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you sober before.”

Alistair’s face flushed red as he glared at Hawke, a little lost for words at this.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m not a wanted fugitive! How’s your boyfriend, Hawke? Blown up any buildings lately?”

Hawke blinked in surprise, before smiling rather too sweetly at Alistair and purring back a response.

“Why do you ask, Alistair? Did you need another sexually transmitted disease treating?”

Alistair really had no comeback for that, mouth opening and closing as his face went from pink to deep scarlet.

“I don’t… I mean, I… I definitely don’t have any sexually transmitted diseases,” Alistair managed to get out, and Elisif believed him. She’d had a mage healer check him over after reaching Skyhold, just in case.

“Perhaps you could leave _my boyfriend_ alone and tell me who you are and what help you’re offering the Inquisition?” Elisif said tersely, folding her arms and staring the woman down. She was fairly certain this Hawke was a few years older than her, but she surely didn’t act like it.

Hawke had at least had the decency to look a little awkward on hearing she’d just implied the Inquisitor’s boyfriend was riddled with the pox.

“I’m… sure Alistair’s perfectly well-behaved these days and in perfect health,” Hawke said swiftly. “We’ve all had our wild years, haven’t we? During my first few years in Kirkwall, I must have been in and out of the Blooming Rose so often they were offering me a loyalty card. Collect ten stamps, get a free… well. Never mind. Not important.”

Muffled laughter from Blackwall, who sounded like he was finding this whole situation hilarious, while Dorian could be heard asking Varric if he wanted to know what the stamps looked like.

“Stendarr’s mercy,” Elisif muttered, deciding everyone would be best off if they got to the point. “Hawke. Varric said you had information. Regarding Corypheus and some sort of corruption in the Wardens?”

“Yes!” Hawke said, brightening up. “I did! Look, this whole thing is complicated and we’re not entirely sure if it is linked to Corypheus, but he’s a darkspawn, this involves Wardens and the Blight and, well, seeing as it was me who found Corypheus in the first place and might have accidentally unleashed him on the world, we – I felt we should do something about it.”

She was right about that at least. 

“Varric said you were sure you’d killed Corypheus,” Elisif said, still a little unclear on how Corypheus had gone from dead at Hawke’s hands to invading Haven.

“We did!” Hawke protested, appealing to Varric for confirmation. “Bethany’s healing spells were saying he was dead, and Varric, Aveline and I have seen a lot of corpses in our time! He wasn’t breathing or moving or anything. I’m not in the business of leaving live enemies behind me, in fact believe me, this is very very personal! If I kill a thing, it stays dead, my reputation relies on it. Getting up and walking around _after_ I’ve killed them?? That’s bad. That’s very very bad! I can’t have that, Herald, I’ll never get work again!”

Elisif had heard Cicero say very similar things before now, and was now very curious to know what these two would make of each other.

“All right, fine, where is your friend?” Elisif sighed. “Was it that mage healer I saw round here a few minutes ago?”

Hawke’s face had closed up entirely, and Elisif had seen that faux-innocent look on Cicero’s face too often to mistake it for anything else.

“I didn’t see any mage healers round here?” Hawke said innocently. “Are you sure they weren’t with the Venatori?”

“Quite sure, he healed my concussion,” Elisif said, looking around, sure she’d heard something in the undergrowth. Hawke just shook her head.

“No one around here that’s not either with you or the Red Templars,” Hawke said, also glancing around. “Oh, and my cat of course, now where is he. HEEERE, POUNCEY-POUNCEY-POUNCEY!”

More rustling, and a ginger tabby darted from the bushes, making straight for Hawke and leaping straight up onto her shoulder, purring as it nuzzled her neck. Hawke tickled its chin and kissed its nose before carefully picking the cat up and draping it round her neck.

“’oo’s a good kitty,” Hawke cooed, and Elisif bit her lip to stop from squealing over it herself. Nords as a culture neither trusted cats or kept them as pets, and the only place you ever really saw them was on board ships. But they were common in the rest of the Empire, and according to Liriel, very popular pets in Alinor too, and they were starting to make headway among the Reachmen as pets too. She’d been tempted to look into getting Maia a kitten… of course, that was no longer necessary now Maia had a mabari. 

But Hawke had one, and it seemed surprisingly loyal and affectionate towards her, and Elisif only barely resisted the urge to start cooing over it herself.

“You’ve got a cat!” Dorian gasped, clearly a cat person and clearly not resisting at all. “He’s adorable! Hello there! What’s your name, you little cutie?”

The cat was nuzzling into Dorian’s hand, clearly loving having its ears played with and fur stroked, and Hawke seemed thrilled to extol her cat’s virtues to all and sundry.

“His name is Sir Pounce-A-Lot and he’s been my friend and companion for years, and he follows me everywhere,” Hawke said proudly. “Isn’t that right, Pouncey?”

Sir Pounce mewed, almost as if he was agreeing with her, and Elisif had to wonder if perhaps Hawke’s cat was more than he seemed. Were Thedosian cats capable of understanding humans like the mabari were? She’d have to ask around.

But in the meantime, Hawke had information and wasn’t going to give it out here, clearly. So Elisif motioned for Hawke to lead the way, Dorian on one side of her and Varric on the other, while she hung behind with Alistair, Fiona and Blackwall.

“Do we trust her?” Elisif whispered to Fiona.

“She’s a trained assassin who’s survived more dangerous situations than most people ever even face in one lifetime,” Fiona murmured back. “She backed the mage rebellion, but she doesn’t seem to have a problem with methods that get innocent people killed. That said, the Champion of Kirkwall also helped people in need. The Inquisition can use her, Elisif. All the same… do keep an eye on her.”

That chimed with Elisif’s own opinion, even as Alistair grimaced.

“I hardly ever got STDs,” Alistair muttered. “It was just one or two times…”

“Happens to the best of us,” Blackwall laughed, patting his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it lad. You were away from home, lonely, having a hard time… not your fault.”

“She didn’t have to fucking tell everyone,” Alistair muttered, still glaring at Hawke’s back and Elisif could only sigh on realising that Hawke and Alistair were never going to be friends and that she’d have to keep them apart constantly.

“All right, he’s up here,” Hawke was saying, having led them out of the sunshine and into a dark tunnel that wound back into Crestwood’s cliffs. “Don’t mind the mess and bloodstains, this used to be an old slaver or bandit den. Not sure which. My Warden friend had already got here and claimed it when I arrived. It’s possible he talked them into leaving voluntarily… but I wouldn’t place coin on it.”

There was a door ahead of them, a blindfolded skull logo next to it, and sure enough, the bloodstains were evidence of a fight. One this Warden had presumably won.

Hawke was knocking on the door, the cat leaping off her shoulders as she did so, adding a yowl to the sound as it scratched the door. 

“It’s me,” Hawke called over the sound of Sir Pounce-A-Lot’s meowing. “I brought friends. Varric, and the Inquisitor.”

There was the sound of a bar being lifted and laid to one side, and the latch clicking. Hawke pushed the door open and went in first, Sir Pounce-A-Lot darting in alongside her, tail raised in greeting as he ran to where a man in Warden armour was kneeling down, smiling as he stroked the cat’s head.

He had black hair shot through with grey, pale skin, a few battle scars, and as he looked up, Elisif saw brilliant blue eyes in an old warrior’s face and was reminded of Madanach for some reason… except she didn’t think he was a mage.

“Hello,” Elisif began, feeling oddly unsure of this man despite Hawke’s reassurances he was here to help. “I’m Inquisitor Elisif, who are…?”

“HIM???” 

Alistair had taken one look and lost his head completely. 

“YOU TREACHEROUS MURDERING BASTARD, I AM GONNA HAVE YOUR FUCKING HEAD YOU SONOFA-!”

Alistair had shoved past Elisif, hand to his sword and face contorted in rage like Elisif had never seen on him before, and as the other Warden reached for his own weapon, Elisif realised horrified that Alistair truly did mean to kill the man.

“Alistair no, stop!” Elisif cried, putting a hand to his chest, trying to hold him back, and on his other side, Fiona had materialised, managing to stop Alistair actually drawing his sword.

“Son, no,” Fiona said firmly. “I don’t blame you for being angry but we might need him.”

“Need him??” Alistair shouted. “He killed Duncan, Mum! Him turning and walking away while all my brother Wardens were slaughtered! I lost everyone I cared about on that battlefield! EVERYONE! Apart from Lyra. And you’re telling me we need his help now? The man who thought it was a good idea to outlaw the Grey Wardens during a _Blight??_ ”

Elisif closed her eyes and realised just who Hawke had dragged up from the Wardens. The one man guaranteed to send the normally sweet and easygoing Alistair into a towering rage. The one he’d walked out on Lyra over, because he believed he’d deserved execution, not the honour of serving as a Warden. 

“Loghain Mac Tir, I presume,” Elisif sighed, and Loghain smirked and nodded.

“You presume correctly,” Loghain drawled, hand leaving his sword hilt as he decided Alistair probably wasn’t going to kill him, not today at least. “Did the whelp there tell you I was the worst kind of traitor? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Did he also tell you that after his little tantrum, I was the one who had to pick up the job he abandoned and help Warden-Commander Surana finish the Archdemon once and for all?”

Alistair reached for his sword again, this time managing to break out of Elisif’s grasp, and it was only Blackwall grabbing him from behind that held him back this time.

“Fuck you, Loghain, I swear you’re a dead man,” Alistair gasped, and Elisif gave up on anything constructive happening with these two in the same room.

“Alistair, that’s enough!” Elisif snapped, firmly positioning herself in front of Alistair, both hands on his chest. “Yes, I know there’s history, and no, he wouldn't be my first choice of help. But if he has anything that could help with Corypheus, then I need to hear him out. So if you can’t control yourself, you need to wait outside.”

Alistair growled, eyes not leaving Loghain, still struggling against Blackwall’s grip.

“I am NOT leaving you alone with him!” Alistair snapped, eyes barely flickering in her direction. “I mean it, Elisif, if he lays one finger on you, I am ripping his fucking head off.”

“I know,” Elisif said softly. “But I need you calm, and right now, you’re not. I won’t be alone, Alistair. The others will be here. And he’s just a man. If he tries anything, I’ll Shout him down. And then you can come back and help me finish him off.”

Alistair growled softly under his breath, glaring viciously at Loghain… but he didn’t argue any further.

“If he screws the Inquisition over, he’s dead,” Alistair snapped, before turning and leaving, striding furiously out of the cave. Elisif couldn’t quite stop herself flinching, because Loghain had sent him walking out on a cause and a loved one before.

“Blackwall, go with him,” Elisif whispered. “Keep an eye on him.” A brother Warden would be the best person to anchor him to what was important, right?

“Will do,” Blackwall said, saluting with a fist to the chest. “You need us back here, just Shout.”

“I will,” Elisif promised, and Blackwall followed Alistair out.

“He won’t leave,” Fiona said softly, clearly guessing what was on Elisif’s mind. “My son is a grown man now, not a boy any more. He knows what’s important.”

Elisif just hoped for everyone’s sake that Fiona was right. So she glanced to where Hawke had been awkwardly waiting with Varric and motioned for her to come forward.

“Well, between the two of you, you’ve managed to make my boyfriend lose his temper already,” Elisif said, folding her arms. “I hope for your sakes your information is worth it. What do you know, and how will it help the Inquisition?”

Hawke glanced at Loghain and motioned in his direction.

“Loghain can tell you more than me. I’ve been on the run from the Chantry since Kirkwall fell apart. What I was curious about was the red lyrium that we’d inadvertently brought back from that ancient thaig. Knight-Commander Meredith had had a sword made of the stuff, and it eventually sent her mad and turned her into a lyrium statue. I was trying to find out more about it, and thought the Wardens might know more. That was when I tracked down Loghain. We were looking into it… but then things went pear-shaped.”

Elisif hadn’t heard that one before, but guessed it was some sort of Fereldan euphemism for things not going well.

“What happened?” she asked. “Was Corypheus involved?”

“We’re not sure,” Hawke said, glancing at Loghain. “I didn’t know he was even still alive until Varric wrote and told me from Skyhold. But something’s up with the Wardens.”

Hawke glanced at Loghain again, indicating for him to continue, and Loghain nodded grimly.

“A few months ago, every Warden in both Fereldan and Orlais began to hear the Calling,” Loghain growled. “Every single one. Warden-Commander Surana’s been off on some mission in the Deep Roads for the last year, and the Orlesian who replaced her immediately took all the Fereldan Wardens to meet with Warden-Commander Clarel in Orlais.”

“The Calling… that’s what Wardens hear at the end of their lives, when the Blight finally catches up with them,” Elisif whispered, her suspicions crystallising as she realised she and Madanach had been right – the Wardens had indeed all started hearing a possibly-not-real Calling at once and disappeared. “They can’t all be hearing that at once when they all did the Joining at different times. Something’s messing with the taint, surely?”

“Something could be, yes,” Fiona said grimly. “Sentient darkspawn speeding it up, maybe. It happened before… but there would be signs of physical corruption too. Alistair’s not had any, has he?”

“No,” Elisif said, having made a point of looking for that on several occasions before now. “All Alistair does is hear the song. It’s something affecting their minds, not their bodies. They think they’re hearing it, but they’re not actually dying, not yet. Madanach thought it might be some sort of demon.”

“Also possible, a fear demon or nightmare demon, bringing out their greatest fear, but it’s clearly using the taint as a channel,” Fiona said, narrowing her eyes. “This has to be Corypheus’s work.”

Both Hawke and Loghain were looking at them in some surprise, clearly not having expected dots being joined so quickly… but Elisif was gratified to see she’d impressed them.

“So how do we stop this,” Elisif said softly. She’d seen Alistair’s mental health falling apart due to the Calling, Alistair sincerely believing his life was over and committing to the Inquisition because it offered the chance to die honourably. Not to mention poor Blackwall, also affected and stoically saying nothing the whole time, but probably joining up for similar reasons to Alistair. And all those others, all across Thedas, all thinking wrongly that they were dying. Elisif had to do something.

“Kill Corypheus and the problem might sort itself out,” Hawke said, frowning. “At any rate, you want to worry less about the fake Calling than what the Wardens are doing in response to it.”

Elisif really wasn’t sure she wanted to know what the Warden response was, and Fiona wasn’t looking too happy either.

“What have they done,” Fiona whispered, horrified. “What have they _done,_ Loghain??”

“You know the Wardens, Fiona,” Loghain said, finally acknowledging her directly for the first time. “You know the code – defeat the Blight by any means necessary. Well, apparently I can’t manage that, because I’ve walked out on yet another promise. Apparently I’m one of the only ones who thought blood magic and demons was a step too far.”

“WHAT?” Fiona cried and while Elisif wasn’t opposed to magical warfare, this sounded bad.

“What are they doing?” Elisif whispered. “Tell me!”

“Clarel thinks this is the end of the Wardens, but she can’t leave behind a world at risk from the Blight,” Loghain explained. “So she’s found some sort of Tevinter magister and with his help is trying to raise an army of demons to help invade the Deep Roads and root out the remaining Old Gods. Kill them, no more Blights. In theory.”

If that magister wasn’t working for the Venatori, Elisif would be stunned. A whole army of demons… wait. Army of demons. Like the one that Corypheus had invaded Orlais with in that dark future. Oh no.

“We have to stop this,” Elisif whispered. “Fiona? What sort of things would they need to do?”

“You’d need blood magic to do this – a lot of blood magic,” Fiona said, despairing. “You’d need human sacrifice on a huge scale. And if there’s one thing Wardens do well, it’s sacrifice. Elisif, we must do something. I know I’m no Warden any more, but we have to save them, if it’s not too late.”

Elisif nodding, agreeing. She’d not talked widely with anyone about what Madanach’s notes from the future had held, but this was all starting to tally horribly with what she’d read there. Hadn’t she and Madanach suspected that finding the missing Wardens might lead them to Corypheus somehow? So it had proved.

“You have the Inquisition’s attention, Warden Loghain. Where’s this magister?”

“I don’t know for sure, Clarel took the Wardens and left – after ensuring I was branded a traitor just for objecting to her mad plan,” Loghain growled. “But I have my suspicions. Last I heard, some of the Wardens had gone out to the Western Approach for some sort of top secret test mission. I think it’s related. When you’re ready, Inquisitor, we should head out there and investigate. There are Wardens out looking for me, I’d never make it out there on my own… but with Inquisition backing and protection, I can show you where they’re meeting.”

Alistair would not like this at all… but he wouldn’t like the idea of the Wardens turning to demonology either. Elisif still didn’t know if she trusted Loghain… but this was one man, and she had an entire organisation at her disposal. She’d need to take precautions… but if she made sufficient preparations, Loghain wouldn’t be in a position to betray her in the first place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Alistair had still been there when they’d left the cave, Blackwall standing next to him with a hand on his back, and Elisif hadn’t realised until she saw him that she’d been more worried than she cared to admit that he might not have been.

“M’lady,” Blackwall nodded, patting Alistair’s back and stepping away. “Your lad here’s still loyal and he still loves you… but you should know he’s not happy.”

Elisif thanked him, and as Blackwall left them to it, she turned her attention to Alistair, patting his arm gently.

“You’re here,” she whispered, not bothering to hide the relief in her voice, and Alistair did smile at that. Only a little, but he smiled.

“So are you,” he said softly, and while he shot a filthy look at Loghain, he didn’t say anything to him. Clearly Alistair wasn’t quite as impetuous as he’d once been, and Elisif smiled and reached out, hoping for a cuddle.

Alistair’s arms went round her and she felt a kiss on her forehead, but he still seemed angry and Elisif had a feeling he was not all right with any of this.

“Loghain’s coming back to Skyhold. He’s got a lead on possible Venatori influence over the Wardens, and I think it’s something we need to check out. I’m sorry,” Elisif whispered.

Alistair flinched but did not argue. 

“If you think it’s best,” was all Alistair said. Which was not reassuring and likely meant A Talk in the not too distant future, but he was still here. He hadn’t walked out. She still had her Warden.

“Don’t think I approve of Loghain’s actions or think you’re entirely wrong,” Elisif said softly. “He’s here as an asset, that’s all.”

Alistair tightened his grip on her and kissed her forehead again, rather more tenderly this time.

“Thank you,” Alistair said, smiling. Then he saw his mother approaching, grim-faced, and his face fell.

“Mum?” Alistair asked, heedless of Loghain turning sharply on hearing that. “Are you all right?”

Fiona walked straight up to him and hugged him, which from Fiona, was unusual public behaviour.

“Mum? Maker, what is it?” Alistair gasped, by now alarmed. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh my son,” Fiona gasped. “My son, the Wardens are in terrible, terrible danger and if the Maker had willed otherwise, you might...”

Have been among them, Fiona didn’t need to say. Elisif whimpered a little and cuddled Alistair that bit tighter, and Alistair wordlessly put his arm around both of them.

“That wasn’t the Maker’s will, that was my own stupidity, Mum,” Alistair said, attempting to lighten the mood. It didn’t really work. “What’s going on?”

Blackwall had edged closer too, looking alarmed at talk of Wardens in trouble.

“We found out why the Wardens have disappeared,” Elisif explained. “It’s not just you, Alistair. They’re all hearing the Calling, every single Warden in Southern Thedas. Your friend Lyra’s off on some mission somewhere else so in her absence, the Fereldan Wardens went to Orlais. And the Orlesian Wardens have decided they’re going to go out in a last stand… but they can’t leave behind a world at risk of Blights with no Wardens. So...”

“They plan to sacrifice their own in blood magic rituals to raise an army of demons that will scour the Deep Roads and destroy the remaining Old Gods before they can rise as Archdemons and lead Blights,” Fiona said bitterly. “And if things had gone otherwise you might have been among them.”

“I wouldn't have stuck around for demons and blood magic,” Alistair promised, nuzzling his mother’s hair. “I’d have come to get help and warn people.” He looked up at where Loghain was watching from afar, self-satisfied smirk on his face, and Alistair scowled as he realised Loghain, despite everything, had in fact done the right thing. For once.

“He’s still a weapons-grade bastard,” Alistair said tersely. Elisif merely patted him on the shoulder, deciding not to argue the point. You could after all do the right thing but still be a massive pain to be around.

And so Elisif sent Loghain on ahead, with a letter of introduction for Inquisition personnel advising that he was to be escorted to Skyhold and given all hospitality as befitted an Inquisition asset… and a postscript in Tamrielic for Madanach warned him to treat Loghain well but keep his wits about him. Hawke handed Sir Pounce-A-Lot over to Loghain, and then to Elisif’s surprise, beckoned her back for a word.

“So… Inquisitor. Herald. Lady Elisif. Lady Elisif Dragonborn about whom many many stories have been told and who just cast some sort of dragon spell earlier that let you carve a Red Templar in two.”

Hawke was smiling hopefully, practically bouncing up and down, and Alistair could be heard muttering “Akatosh’s Thu’um” to himself in Tamrielic. Which was actually rather endearing because Elisif didn’t even know he knew much of the language. She suspected Maia’s influence.

She squeezed his hand and asked Hawke what she wanted.

“Well, they say you can kill dragons and do some sort of weird thing with your voice that may or may not be a gift from the Maker, and you’re definitely impressive, and the Inquisition’s all about helping people out and killing monsters, isn’t it?” Hawke said, definitely sidling up to a point, a point likely involving something dangerous.

“There’s something dangerous nearby you want me to deal with, isn’t there?” Elisif sighed wearily, seeing where this was going already.

“Yes!” Hawke gasped, relieved. “I mean, not on your own. I’d help! But it’s a bit dangerous, Loghain said if it wasn’t Blighted, it wasn’t his problem, and I could do with some scary warriors with swords between me and it.”

“It?” Elisif asked, somehow knowing where this was going.

“She,” Hawked corrected. “It’s a female, well, they’re all females aren’t they? Only just over that hill it turns out there’s a...”

“A high dragon?” Alistair interrupted. “Here? And no one’s doing anything about it? The village is right there, and this is the main road between Denerim and Val Royeaux, there’s dozens of travellers come this way in any given month! Elisif, we have to do something, we can’t just leave a dragon on the loose!”

“Why did I know this was going to happen,” Varric sighed, and Dorian, who’d been staring after Loghain’s retreating back with no little interest, turned abruptly around. 

“We’re fighting a dragon, are we. Oh marvellous, how I love giant scaly lizards breathing fire at me. Elisif, if I get scars off this, I will literally never forgive you.”

“See them as a badge of honour,” Elisif said cheerfully, the dovah within already perking up. She’d never fought a Thedosian dragon, not properly. About time she put that right. “All right, where is it? We really can’t leave this village at risk from a dragon.”

Varric groaned and Dorian shook his head, and Fiona made a mental note that perhaps following the Inquisitor on her missions was a little too exciting and perhaps remaining at Skyhold might be the better option in future. But she wasn’t about to abandon her son, and Alistair was definitely up for it, and Blackwall wasn’t about to let the Inquisitor risk herself while he stayed back. So off they went… and sure enough, the dragon was just over the hill, perched on top of a ruined fort, taking to the air as it saw them coming.

Fiona’s barrier spell flickered into life, Varric raised Bianca, and Elisif drew Dawnbreaker, preparing to Shout it down.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

The Shout made contact… but the dragon sailed on, completely unaffected, whirling around in a wide loop and spitting lightning at them.

Wait. Lightning?

“There’s no Thu’um for that!” Elisif cried as she dived out of the way. “Dragons shouldn’t be able to breathe _lightning!_ ”

“Well that one is, so I suggest we get on with killing it!” Blackwall roared, positioning himself in a protective stance while Alistair helped her up.

“This dragon-slaying sword,” Alistair said, picking Dragonbane up once he’d got Elisif to her feet. “Is it going to actually do anything against Thedosian dragons, if Tamrielic ones are different?”

Elisif honestly had no idea.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But it’s still sharp! Hit it hard enough, it’ll do something, right?”

Exasperation and no little amount of panic in his eyes, but Alistair still dragged her out of the way anyway when it came round again, so presumably he still loved her. 

But they had a dragon to fight, and if Elisif couldn't hit it in flight, Hawke and Varric were managing, and Dorian and Fiona’s magic was also affecting it, and it had to land eventually.

Once it was down, it wasn’t long before it was down for good, a dead high dragon lying at Elisif’s feet after she’d run screaming at it and found to her delight that that technique worked as well on Thedosian dragons as it did on Tamrielic Dovah.

But the body wasn’t doing anything, and the soul, if it had one, was staying stubbornly in its body.

“Damn it,” Elisif cursed. A Dovahkiin faced with a species that wasn’t Dovah. What did you do in this situation? Other than kill it as best you could. “The soul’s staying put. Or going to the Fade. Or wherever dead dragons go.”

“Where else would it go,” Fiona said wearily, coming to sit beside her. “May I ask what you were expecting to happen?”

“I usually take the soul when I kill them,” Elisif said bitterly, glaring at the dead dragon as if this was its fault. “That’s how I found out I was Dragonborn. My city guards killed one and when I went to look at the corpse, I took its soul. This one? Nothing. It’s not the same as the ones back home.”

Looking at it closely when it wasn’t breathing lightning at her, it did look different. Less streamlined. Chunkier limbs and body. Forelimbs not built into the wings. Odahviing was far more delicately built, and his forelimbs were one with his wings. A new species of dragons… and they weren’t sentient Dovah, just animals.

“I don’t suppose they are,” Fiona said, looking at the dragon with new eyes. “You said there was no Thu’um for lightning. As if dragons use the same voice magic you do.”

“Use it?? They invented it!” Elisif cried. “It’s their language! It’s what they do! That’s how they breathe fire, they Shout and fire comes into being.”

She looked up to see astounded companions, Alistair running fingers across his lips in wonder, and Fiona’s frown deepening.

“Not our high dragons, they don’t, they have special glands for their breath,” Fiona mused. “The Wardens have whole tomes on this at Weisshaupt – I must have read half of them while pregnant. There’s glands for fire that contain some flammable material that ignites on reacting with air, and the frost-breathers have glands with something that freezes once it’s activated and meets air, and the lightning-spitters have some sort of membrane that generates a current – there were diagrams on all of this from dissections by Warden mages, I can try and recreate them.”

“Liriel might be interested,” Elisif said, trying to wrap her head round this. “But they don’t Shout words and have the thing they Shouted come to pass. They’ve got natural means of doing this.”

“No,” Fiona said, pursing her lips as she stared at her son. “But… old gods are different. Archdemons are different. They’re more than beasts but they are dragons. The reason Grey Wardens have to be the ones to end a Blight is that an old god’s soul is… resilient. They don’t die permanently, and the Blight provides a conduit for that soul’s survival – it’ll pass into the nearest Blighted creature and take over. Darkspawn don’t have souls… but Grey Wardens do. If an Archdemon’s soul enters a Grey Warden instead of a darkspawn, the Warden’s soul fights back and they destroy each other. It’s why we need Wardens, they are the only ones who can stop a Blight and kill an Archdemon for good.”

_Not necessarily._ A Dragonborn might be able to end a Blight too – but in the absence of Dragonborns, not to mention any extant lore on their existence, small wonder the Grey Wardens had resorted to alternate means of bringing down a corrupted Dovah. Which must be what the old gods were.

Which meant there was a difference between the Archdemons that led Blights and the corrupted creature Corypheus had at his command. Corypheus’s dragon was fearsome but it was just a beast. It wasn’t one of the Dov.

But there were Dovah here. Sleeping. Entombed. Capable of great and terrible things. There had been seven, five now dead, but two still out there somewhere. The thought was an intriguing one. She wondered if Paarthurnax or Odahviing might know about seven lost Dov.

They weren’t here to ask though, and she had bigger problems. Such as the missing Wardens being co-opted by the Venatori, and a ball to attend that was looming up sooner than Elisif would like, and a boyfriend who would dearly like to murder the Inquisition’s latest asset. A boyfriend who still didn’t look happy, and who would probably want to talk.

Elisif was not looking forward to that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the cat is who you think it is. :) Someone refused to be left behind, and Hawke's decided that if she needs to keep him away from Corypheus, taking him to Skyhold is probably the best option. The shapeshifting ability has come from Morrigan via Lyra, but the cat form he managed on his own. Very useful for hiding from Templars.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's fears about Loghain aren't so easily allayed and a confrontation is coming. Meanwhile Loghain himself arrives at Skyhold, to be confronted with a man who has more in common with him than either would like but who's not keen on making friends. However, it's not Loghain who's the biggest concern for the Inquisition but a cat with a secret that won't stay secret long when one of Skyhold's inhabitants is known as the Blight Witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back! A combination of writer's block and RSI kept me away from the keyboard but I'm OK to post an update, so here you go.

Things got worse when they reached Caer Bronach and discovered Loghain, cat in tow, hadn’t stuck around but borrowed a horse and ridden for Skyhold already. 

Apparently this was a source of sadness for one person in the party.

“He’s gone??” Dorian said, annoyed. “I wanted to get to know him better!”

“Get to – he’s a lying, untrustworthy, murdering traitorous bastard, how much better do you need to know him?” Alistair snapped.

“Yes, yes,” Dorian said dismissively. “I know all that, tales of the traitor Teyrn made it all the way to Tevinter, but you know what was never mentioned. The singular, salient fact that somehow never made it to Minrathous?”

“What,” Alistair growled, something flashing in his eyes that Elisif didn’t like the look of at all.

“No one ever mentioned he was _attractive!_ ” Dorian said, glaring sternly at Alistair as if this was something he was personally at fault over for never telling him this.

Alistair’s face had gone red and one of the veins in his neck was bulging and Elisif realised Alistair, normally so sweet and easygoing, was about to lose his temper.

“He’s _not attractive!_ ” Alistair shouted, and while his Thu’um was still developing, Elisif could feel a vibration in the air. “He’s a fucking MURDERER!”

Caer Bronach shook, and everyone was turning to look their way, and Elisif finally decided enough was enough. She had to defuse things before Alistair lost his temper completely and actually hurt someone.

“All right, that’s enough!” Elisif cried, taking Alistair firmly by the arm and leading him away. “Alistair, leave it. It’s not our business who Dorian sees, and we’ve got no evidence Loghain’s even interested. Dorian, you could perhaps respect Alistair’s feelings at least a little, and talk about how cute Loghain is to other people?”

Alistair growled, snatching his arm back… but he didn’t go for Dorian, instead just stalking off, still seething. Dorian actually pouted, appearing genuinely hurt at Alistair’s reaction.

“He… really doesn’t like the man, does he?” Dorian sighed. “I mean, not that he should but… damn it, Elisif, I like talking to Alistair. He’s good fun. And he’s genuinely kind-hearted. I don’t have many friends. I treasure the ones I do have. It’s upsetting to see one of them that angry at me.”

Elisif wanted to promise him Alistair would get over it, but she wasn’t any too sure about that. She wasn’t even certain he wasn’t about to walk out of the Inquisition entirely. So she settled for patting Dorian on the back, and as the rest of the party dispersed to find their quarters, went to talk to Fiona.

“You’re expecting me to be able to talk him down?” Fiona said, surprised. “Elisif, you have to know I don’t have the best of history with Loghain myself. He was with Maric when we met, and he made no secret that he despised me then. I know he hates Orlesians, I’m fairly certain he distrusts mages and I have a feeling he’s prejudiced against elves too. And thanks to him my oldest friend died and I didn’t know if my son was even alive for years. If you want someone to persuade him Loghain isn’t so bad after all, I am not the one to ask.”

“I don’t,” Elisif sighed. “I just don’t want him to leave! He walked out on Lyra over him, didn’t he? And it broke him and messed him up for years. I don’t want him to do it again!” 

Fiona’s expression softened as she took Elisif’s hand, clearly knowing all too well what leaving had cost her son before.

“No one wants that, Elisif,” Fiona said gently. “Not even him. Go to him and talk to him. If anyone can reach him, it’s you.”

Elisif hoped Fiona was right. She’d be heartbroken if he left… and he’d shatter for good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

She found Alistair in the room set aside for Inquisitor’s use, out of his armour now, sitting topless on the bed, shoulders hunched and staring at the floor. He didn’t look up as she entered.

She said nothing, first removing her own gauntlets, then the boots and greaves, and then to her surprise, she felt Alistair move, wordlessly helping her with the cuirass.

“Thank you,” she said softly, and while he didn’t answer, he did help her put it all away for the night, before sitting down on the bed again, clearly unhappy and tense and… going to break up with her?

Elisif didn’t know. He looked like a man struggling and she didn’t know how to help or how to make it better or anything. She didn’t even know if he wanted her anywhere near him or if it was OK to touch him or…

Water on her cheek as she realised there were tears in her eyes, and she hastily wiped them away before Alistair noticed.

Alas, she was too late.

“Don’t,” he whispered, grabbing a handkerchief from the dresser and coming to kneel next to her. “I hate seeing you cry, it’s awful.”

“Don’t leave me,” Elisif whispered. “Please don’t.” She broke off, feeling her throat closing and tears welling up, and if she said another word, she’d really end up sobbing, she just knew it.

Small whimper from Alistair as he pressed his forehead to hers and put an arm around her, taking her hand in his.

“I won’t,” Alistair whispered. “I mean, I don’t want to! I love you so much, you’re so brave and pretty and amazing. But… I can’t… if I lost you, I don’t – don’t know what I’d do! He can’t hurt you, he just can’t!”

Which was sweet and endearing, but the fact remained Loghain wasn’t the one presently making her cry.

“You’re the only one doing that right now,” Elisif whispered, the words coming out slightly more viciously than intended, and Alistair flinched, face screwing up as her words hit home.

“’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t… I don’t want to push you away, but I can’t stop feeling like this.”

“Feeling like what?” Elisif whispered. Maybe it’d help him to talk at least.

“Angry,” Alistair said, only the slightest hint of a growl as he spoke. “And I hate feeling angry, I know it’s wrong, I know I should be grateful for what the Maker gave me, but I can’t help it. I want to find Loghain and rip the smug bastard’s face off. And...” And here he hesitated, guilt in his voice, hesitancy in his every expression, clearly not at ease with this next bit. He was kneeling by her feet now, glancing nervously up at her as he squeezed her hand.

“And?” Elisif prodded, guessing this, this was the important bit, this was the thing standing in between them, the thing they needed to talk about most. “What else?”

“I’m angry at you,” Alistair whispered, sounding mortified and guilty, and he was flushing scarlet and not meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry. Please don’t throw me out.”

Which hurt… but she was used to Maia complaining and voicing her own feelings whenever things weren’t going her way, and to Madanach losing his temper frequently, and to other people objecting to decisions she’d made, not always calmly and reasonably either, and while she couldn't say she liked people shouting at her, she’d got better at dealing with it.

And Alistair had somehow managed to admit he was angry in such a way that just made her want to cry and hug him.

“Oh,” Elisif whispered, and then she found herself leaning down and hugging him, holding him in her arms, knowing in her heart this was the bloody Chantry’s fault, that they’d been the ones to make him feel ashamed of his own emotions. Hadn’t he said he should be grateful for what the Maker gave him?

“What are you doing?” Alistair gasped, shrinking away. “You shouldn’t be cuddling me! I just said I was angry at you, you should be telling me to get stuffed and punishing me!”

Elisif didn’t think he meant in an erotic way either, she had a feeling he meant in a vicious beating way. Which made her want to cry again. 

“You’re allowed to be angry with me sometimes!” Elisif cried. “Gods know Madanach is now and then. I’m sure other people are too. Maia gets frustrated all the time. As long as you tell me what’s wrong and don’t act like an arse about it, it’s fine.”

Alistair’s fingers curled into her arms, tightening his grip on her as he shivered all over, shaking his head as he clung on to her. Mara’s mercy, was he crying?

“Don’t say that!” he gasped, wiping a tear away. “Stop being so nice about it! I don’t deserve you being nice, I deserve you being furious at me and telling me to pull myself together!”

“Stop saying that!” Elisif cried, feeling her heart breaking at the thought. “I love you, I’m not treating you like that! If you want someone to ill-treat you, look somewhere else! I mean it, Alistair, I’m not hurting you!”

Silence and Alistair had gone very still, his head still in her lap… and then he squeezed her thigh, seeming to accept it on some level.

“You can’t just let me outright rebel against you and not do anything about it,” Alistair said, sounding rather less upset than he had before. 

“Are you?” Elisif asked, stroking his hair and wondering why the change in mood… and why he was suddenly talking in terms of rebellion. “Wait, Alistair, you’re my boyfriend, you don’t work for me. Not exactly.”

“It’s not like that!” Alistair sighed. “Only… you’re Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor, Supreme Being of Tamriel, all sorts of scary things, and you could swat me down like a fly and get away with it. And I’m OK with that, I’m more than OK with that… but being angry with you is scary. Because if you got angry back, you could kill me.”

Elisif knew that, it was a daily battle reigning her dragon side in sometimes, but she always did it, she’d never lost her temper and killed anyone yet (except Erikur but he had taken out a contract on her, so perhaps it took attempted murder to get her to that point). She hadn’t known Alistair knew it too, or that he genuinely feared for his life when challenging her… or perhaps felt he didn’t deserve to live if he did.

Both possibilities saddened her deeply, but crying wouldn't help. She recalled playing around with Madanach in the early weeks of their marriage, of Madanach wanted to be tied up and used, but as soon as she’d gone for his backside, he’d flinched, panicked and safe-worded. So she’d stopped and untied him, terrified she’d done something wrong… only to be faced with a babbling, scared husband apologising, promising he’d be good this time, they should try again, please don’t punish him. It had been so unlike him, and it had taken her a good hour to calm him down and whisper he’d done nothing wrong. It had taken her considerably longer to get him to the point where he could truly relax and let go and trust her, but it had been worth it.

It looked like Alistair was going to require a similar touch. 

“I never would,” Elisif whispered. “And maybe I’m all those things but I’m still Elisif. I’m still human and I love you. If I’ve done something wrong, please tell me. Maybe I can fix it.”

Alistair scowled, remembering why he was angry in the first place.

“He’s still breathing, isn’t he?” Alistair muttered. “And you’re not going to execute him, so what’s the point.”

“But you really don’t like having him around,” Elisif sighed. “And you’re furious at me for bringing him into the Inquisition. Because you don’t think justice was served for Ostagar and everything else?”

“Because he might betray you like he did the Wardens, and you don’t seem to be taking it seriously at all!” Alistair snapped, head shooting up as he glared at her, and while he didn’t seem close to loss of temper quite yet, this was definitely strong feelings and it was directed right at her. “If we lose you, we lose everything – _I_ lose everything! And you’re going to just let him in to Skyhold like he’s a friend??”

“No!” Elisif cried. “I mean, yes I’m letting him in, but no he’s hardly a friend! He’s an asset. A guest. We need his information, Alistair.”

Alistair scowled but did not argue.

“He could be luring you in as the blood sacrifice to top them all,” Alistair snapped. “Have you thought of that?”

It had crossed Elisif’s mind, but what could she do? Walk away from the only lead they had on a big part of Corypheus’s plans?

It occurred to her maybe it was about time Alistair was let in on some of those plans.

“Alistair,” Elisif said quietly, stroking his hair. “I never told you this, but in that dark future I was in at Redcliffe, the one where everything went wrong – Madanach left me notes on what happened. That’s the Madanach from that future. I know you know bits, but I never told you everything. In particular I never told you Corypheus took advantage of Celene’s assassination to invade Orlais with an army of demons. And Madanach and I had no idea how or where he’d get one of those… until now.”

Alistair was looking confused, apparently not seeing where this was going… until it dawned on him.

“Army of demons,” Alistair gasped, going pale. “Wait… Corypheus is using the Wardens? He’s making them – us – all think we’re dying, and then manipulating us into raising an army of demons to scour the Deep Roads, but he’s going to take control somehow and use them to invade Orlais?”

“Yes, and if it wasn’t for Loghain and Hawke, we wouldn't know a thing,” Elisif told him firmly, hoping he’d see this at least. “So you don’t have to like, or trust, either of them, but the Inquisition needs them. For now anyway.”

Alistair had gone quiet, getting up and pacing, head in his hands, and then he shoved the bedpost, hard.

“Fuck him,” Alistair snarled. “Fuck, fuck, arse, bollocks and _fuck_ , Elisif!”

Elisif flinched but said nothing. It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to grown men turning the air blue with swearing after all.

Alistair let out an exhalation and rested his forehead against the wooden bedpost, eyes closed, clearly exhausted.

“Utter bastard,” Alistair whispered. “I mean, fuck, Elisif. I – I really hate it when you’re right sometimes.”

Elisif allowed herself a hint of a smile. If he wasn’t calm, he was at least resigned. Although whether he was referring to Corypheus or Loghain, Elisif suspected even he wasn’t sure.

“If it helps, I know he’s got a past, Alistair,” Elisif said softly. “Would it help if we talked to Leliana when we got back. Got her to watch him? And… when I go to the Western Approach, I’ll take Cicero and Eola in the party. If he tries anything, they’ll deal with it.”

Alistair did grin at that, seeing it only too well.

“Warn Madanach as well,” Alistair told her. “I know he’s naturally paranoid and all, but he could do with a heads-up.”

Now it was Elisif’s turn to smile, because she’d already taken care of that in her note to him, and she told Alistair that.

Alistair’s head whipped round as he stared at her, apparently amazed she’d had the foresight to do that. 

“You… told him already?”

“There’s a postscript to that letter of passage in Tamrielic,” Elisif told him, no longer bothering to conceal a smile. “Telling Madanach to treat him well but keep an eye on him, and ask Leliana about him. Should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

Alistair gasped, face breaking out into a delighted smile, and Elisif could almost cry with relief as she realised all was well, and he was no longer angry.

“You are taking him seriously!” Alistair laughed, coming to sit next to her, taking her hands in his as he grinned, looking rather embarrassed. “I should have known. I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me for being a prize idiot?”

“Of course I can,” Elisif said, squeezing his hands and smiling at him, the genuine smile of delight that made people just want to drop everything on her behalf if it meant they got to see it again. Alistair was no exception. 

“Do you still love me?” Elisif asked, and Alistair nodded, grinning back himself, bright brilliant smile that gave anyone who saw it butterflies. Elisif was no exception.

“I’d do anything for you,” Alistair breathed, and Elisif’s smile only broadened, and Alistair promptly went pink. “Maker – sorry, Mara, Elisif, you’re beautiful. I still can’t believe you even looked twice at me.”

“I couldn't take my eyes off you,” Elisif sighed, remembering seeing him rise out of that lake like a male Dibella, and wanting nothing more than to get her hands and lips and everything else on him. “Dibella, Alistair, you’re amazing. How is it you’re the only one who can’t see that?”

Alistair’s blush deepened as he lifted one hand to his mouth and kissed it, whispering a thank you to her, and Elisif moaned softly as he began to nibble her fingers, before kissing a trail down her arm. It wasn’t long before her arm wasn’t enough for either of them, and Alistair let it go and went for her lips, and not long after that, Loghain Mac Tir wasn’t on either of their minds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

About a week’s journey from Crestwood to Skyhold, even on horseback. Maybe he could have covered the distance faster, but Loghain was no longer a young man, the road to Skyhold itself wasn’t the best to start with, and it was crowded with traffic of pilgrims all looking to pledge themselves to the Herald’s service.

Even an Inquisition honour guard didn’t help as much as one might think. And that was without taking Hawke’s infernal not-feline into account.

The wretched witch-cat was sitting in one of his saddlebags, face poking out of it, looking about with interest. Probably not safe for him to walk around in his real form at Skyhold, given the circumstances, which meant Loghain was stuck with him. At least the animal was cute. Not that Loghain was willing to admit that out loud of course.

So he kept his eyes focused on Skyhold, which looked like an impressive fortress from a distance, and was no less so close up. Inquisition soldiers stood to attention on seeing a Warden with a letter in his hands bearing the Inquisitor’s personal seal – some sort of runic sigil involving a dragon in a diamond that he’d been surprised to see the Herald of Andraste cast, although she’d looked like she was struggling a bit to do it. Not a natural mage then – not a very skilled one anyway. Loghain had heard the Avvar possessed more liberal attitudes to magic than the Chantry. Loghain was fairly certain he didn’t approve but the Inquisition had offered to help, so he supposed keeping quiet was his only option.

And so he let them take his borrowed horse off him, after retrieving his pack, and made his way into the huge stone keep, the not-cat at his heels, wondering just where this Deputy Inquisitor Madanach was. The name sounded Fereldan, although the word was the man was also an Avvar barbarian – far more so than the Herald herself. It was a pretty strange Avvar who could capably manage an entire Inquisition in its leader's absence, but judging from appearances so far, he was managing.

He’d been told to go to the Great Hall, and it wasn’t long before a side door opened and a nobleman in his middle years (maybe?) strode in, reading the writ of passage that his escort had taken off him on arrival and gone to deliver to Deputy Inquisitor Madanach. This must be him.

Shoulder-length blonde hair, with braids at the temples, similar to traditional Fereldan hairstyles, which made Loghain predisposed to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. Not built like an Avvar warrior either – he was the same height as Loghain, slightly shorter in fact. The clothes though – some sort of blue robe that looked like a mage’s robe, with gold trim and gold pauldrons, leather gloves with a similar design to the pauldrons, and a golden circlet of some sort, with rubies mounted at the front and a sort of knotwork design that the Chantry had outlawed centuries ago because of its heathen origins.

The axe on his belt, a very sharp black number that was not ceremonial by any means, topped the ensemble off. It looked like the sort of effect you’d get if you described an ancient Fereldan warrior-king’s courtwear to an Orlesian who’d never even visited the country – which, unbeknown to Loghain, was more or less what had happened.

He looked up from the note, silvery-blue eyes staring into Loghain’s own, and Loghain couldn't quite stop himself shivering. Something about him made Loghain feel like this Madanach could see into his very soul.

A few brief uncomfortable seconds passed, and then Madanach broke the stare, slight smile on his face as he inclined his head.

“Well, well,” Madanach purred, and that voice was just _wrong_. Accent not Fereldan, not to anyone actually from the country, and he spoke in a low rasp that set all Loghain’s nerves on edge. “Look at you, Loghain Mac Tir, former Teyrn of… somewhere or other, now living in exile as a Grey Warden. So you’re him. Strange. Thought you’d be taller.”

Loghain bristled at that but what could he say? Deputy Inquisitor Madanach was a man who wielded power, and clearly knew it, because he was grinning at Loghain’s discomfort.

“My wife seems to think you’ve got some information that might be useful to us – a lead on just what the Grey Wardens think they’re playing at, and what Corypheus’s next move might be. She seems to think you should be treated as a guest. And seeing as we signed an alliance agreement with your daughter, we should probably arrange for you to be quartered somewhere nice, shouldn’t we. But you should also know that my husband thinks you’re the worst sort of traitor, and I do respect his feelings too. Just be aware you’re being watched, hmm? Any sign of foul play, or this being a trap, or your information turning out to be completely worthless, and we think you’re at fault, and we’ll be acting. Keep that in mind, Loghain.”

Now this was more the sort of welcome he’d expected. He wasn’t surprised or even that offended. You’d have to be a fool not to take precautions. He was even approving a little.

“Fine,” Loghain said, and then it occurred to him what else Madanach had just said. “Wait, you have a husband AND a wife?”

Madanach did smile at that, nodding in confirmation, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Yeah. Been married to Elisif for six years now, and we recently acquired young Alistair too. It’s not exactly legal yet but he’s important to us.”

That would explain so much. The Inquisitor and her husband had found Warden Alistair somewhere, both fancied him and decided to keep him for themselves.

Loghain idly wondered if the Theirin whining and irresponsibility had surfaced yet. Give it time. It could all end badly yet, and that thought brought a certain satisfaction even as part of him wished he’d been brave enough to say something to Maric and Rowan both all those years ago, stand up for himself on seeing Rowan marry Maric rather than him, and perhaps proposed something different. _You could have had them both._

Ugh. Regrets were pointless. It was done and they were gone and he had better things to do than pine over dead friends.

“Well, as long as he can actually follow orders this time and show some discipline,” Loghain growled. “I’m not picking up where he left off again.”

Madanach raised his eyebrows and looked Loghain up and down.

“No danger of that,” Madanach chuckled, which was a little insulting, even if Madanach wasn’t Loghain’s type either. “You’re not Elisif's type or mine.” 

Thank the Maker for that.

“I’m too old for that sort of thing anyway,” Loghain said with a shrug, and then the damn not-cat made his presence felt, leaping from the shadows and pacing along the table nearest Madanach and meowing at him insistently… and Madanach took one look and his entire demeanour changed.

“Hello there!” Madanach purred, leaning down to get a better look at the cat and tickling it under the chin. “Where did you come from, hmm? Are you hungry?”

Madanach carved a little bit of meat off a nearby ham and fed the cat with it, all the while cooing over the animal, which seemed delighted with his efforts and was definitely lapping up the attention.

Loghain wasn’t a good man, and on the one hand he distrusted Madanach intensely and owed Hawke a debt of secrecy, given all the efforts she’d gone to to mislead the Wardens seeking him. But on the other, he felt he should at least say something.

“Don’t spoil him, he gets spoiled enough,” Loghain growled. “Little bugger belongs to Hawke, but I’m presently stuck minding him. Don’t fall for the charm, he’s a furry pain in the arse.”

Madanach glanced up, grinned and turned his attention back to the cat. 

“I think he’s adorable,” Madanach said, clearly enthralled. Had he never seen a cat before? Loghain didn’t know it, but domestic cats hadn’t reached Markarth before Madanach became ill, and he’d not really had enough time or opportunity to pet a cat after getting better either. “Does he have a name?”

“Sir Pounce-A-Lot,” Loghain sighed. “I didn’t pick the name, she did.”

Madanach cooed at the cat as it patted his face with its paw, and then he was holding out his arms and practically beaming as it leapt into them.

“I have got to show this to Maia,” Madanach breathed. “You don’t mind if I borrow him, do you?”

“Please take him,” Loghain said dismissively, frankly not caring what the cat got up to as long as the stupid moggy didn’t accidentally shift in public and get himself arrested. 

Madanach grinned, motioned to a waiting woman in gold and blue to sort out his quarters and went off to find whoever this Maia person was, leaving Loghain presumably dismissed.

“I need to sleep,” Loghain muttered to himself, and to his surprise the woman actually curtseyed.

“Very good, Serah Mac Tir,” she said, noting on her clipboard. “Oh, excuse me. I am Lady Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador of the Inquisition, and it falls on me to welcome you properly to our halls. I trust your journey was not too onerous? Please forgive the Deputy Inquisitor, he’s a skilled commander but not entirely well-versed in diplomatic niceties. Still, the cat was a masterful move, if I may say so. I did not know he was fond of them, but it’s clearly gone some way to winning him over. That is not an easy feat, my lord.”

Hmm. Orlesian name. Antivan accent. Neither was exactly reassuring but she was being polite so he supposed he could put up with it.

“I don’t doubt it,” Loghain said, rubbing his temples, feeling the Calling whispering at the back of his mind. “He wasn’t exaggerating about being involved with Alistair, was he?”

“They are not legally married, but the mutual affection is undoubted,” Josephine said as she led him to where they’d found space for him. “I… would be careful before interfering. Neither man will take it well, the Inquisitor even less so.”

“What they get up to is their own business,” Loghain promised, past caring what the Theirin whelp was up to in bed these days. Time for a bath, beer and bed. Skyhold might not be home, but it was safe… for now at least.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bath and beer were had, and Loghain had retired to bed, just about ready to drop off… and then there was scratching at the door and feline yowling, and the blasted animal had clearly found him.

Cursing to himself, because he was wide awake now and because the yowling was clearly not going to stop until the abomination cat was let in, Loghain got up, wrenched the door open and glared as the animal ran in, chirruping at him.

Loghain closed the door and went back to bed, pointedly not saying a word to the cat.

Until it leapt onto the bed, shifted, cast a light spell of some sort, and suddenly there was a scruffy apostate wanted criminal sitting on his bed in a mage’s tunic that had seen better days.

“Hello!” Anders said cheerfully. “Want to know how my day’s been? Of course you do! I am in with the Deputy Inquisitor. That man loves me. I met his daughter. He’s got two! One’s in her thirties and one’s a tiny five year old who is obviously the Herald’s little girl. The tiny five year old also loves me, although she seems to think cats can talk. She was surprised I couldn't, and wanted to know if I was a baby – what was the word? Cadgit? Some Avvar or Chasind word meaning talking cat or big cat or something?”

Loghain wished Anders wasn’t talking right now. He was literally only putting up with Anders because he was a fellow Warden on the run, was passably attractive in dim lighting, he supposed, was almost bearable in cat form, and because he needed Hawke’s help and Anders came as part of the deal. Also because people didn’t trust him as it was, revealing he’d been travelling not just with the infamous Champion of Kirkwall but her fugitive boyfriend with a massive bounty on his head wouldn’t do him any favours. And Hawke would never forgive him. He didn’t have many friends. Alienating the few he did wasn’t on his to do list. Especially not when they were trained assassins skilled in the art of stalking you unnoticed and stabbing you in your sleep.

“She’s got a mabari too! Not even Fereldan, and she’s already got a mabari at five. I’d love to know the story behind that one,” Anders was continuing. “Only I think the dog knows. It was growling. Little Maia – that’s the Herald’s kid – kept telling her off for it, but it wasn’t having any of it. Might need you to save me from the mabari.”

Loghain grunted and pulled the covers over his head.

“I am not getting in front of a highly-trained mabari for you,” Loghain informed him. “I used to have a kennels. I know what they’re capable of. You’ll have to wait until Hawke gets here. She’s good with dogs, isn’t she? Didn’t she have one? The tales all say she had a mabari.”

“She still does!” Anders said, looking genuinely distressed at the thought of said mabari dying. “Miss Fluffykins is back in Kirkwall with Aveline. She’s getting on a bit – Fluff, not Aveline – she’s about twelve now. Anyway, seeing as she’s not as young as she used to be, and we knew this was going to be proper dangerous, not running away like we had been doing but actually running towards trouble, Hawke sneaked her back to Kirkwall and asked Aveline to look after her.”

Knowing Hawke’s prized mabari was all right actually made Loghain smile a little. Which was a mistake because Anders saw it and promptly grinned.

“See? You’re pleased! You’re happy the dog’s all right! You have got a heart! There you are, pretending to be a grim and heartless bastard to all and sundry but put a dog in front of you and the Hero of River Dane turns out to be a great big softy. Who knew?”

Loghain growled and stuck his head under the pillow, craving sleep and this mage far away from him. 

“Do you have any useful information at all?” Loghain snapped, emerging just long enough to say the words then retreating again, absolutely sure Anders would have nothing useful whatsoever.

He was wrong.

“Yeah,” Anders said, voice softening as the cheery exterior faded away. “Found out the Inquisition definitely is in favour of mage freedom. They’re everywhere. They’re in Circle robes, and ordinary clothes and Inquisition uniforms, and some of them have these MageGuard uniforms that look like something you’d see on an Avvar tribesman. And they’re mixing with everyone else. Doing jobs alongside normal people. Sure, most of them hang around the library studying, and there’s battlemages training too. But I saw one doing mundane work in the healing clinics, doing all the stuff mundane healers do, except he adds magic to it to finish off or to diagnose faster. And there’s two in the forge, originally to help heat the furnace hotter I think, except they’re learning smithcraft for real because they like it. There’s some of them training with Leliana the Spymistress as agents, and some of the battlemages are learning to fight with non-magical weapons or using the two together – they’re calling themselves spellswords or some such? I’ve never seen anything like it, Loghain. It’s mages… doing other jobs? Being something other than just a mage? You’ve got a few animal lovers in the stables learning how to take care of horses, they’re not just using illusions to calm the thoroughbreds. They’re handling tack and mucking out stables and you wouldn’t even know they’re mages half the time except sometimes they use magic for stuff. I didn’t… I mean… I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready for this! I wasn’t ready for mages to be around non-mages and using their magic and everything being so _normal!_ ”

Anders was sitting on the bed, head in his hands, sounding like he was about to cry, and Loghain, for all he was a practical man not given to sentiment, wasn’t completely inhuman. Granted, he wasn’t exactly at ease with magic either, but he’d got used to Anders by this point. Maybe he wasn’t a supporter of the mage rebellion, but he’d worked alongside mages in the Wardens, even served under them, and he’d come to realise it didn’t matter. It wasn’t his problem. He didn’t need to have an opinion on the mage rebellion, and so therefore he didn’t. But seeing Anders so moved couldn't help but stir him to feel something. Carefully, he sat up, wincing a little as ageing muscles protested, and patted Anders on the back.

“It’s all right, pup,” he said quietly. “Anyway, this is what you wanted, isn’t it? Mages not being persecuted? No Templars?”

“Oh there’s Templars,” Anders laughed, still looking a bit tearful. “They’re subtle about it and they’re not monitoring the sleeping quarters all that closely but there’s some around, keeping an eye out. But it’s not like a Circle. You wouldn’t even know they’re there. I heard some of them talking. About Haven and the Red Templars and how their brothers in arms could just do that, and wondering what hope’s left for the future and for the Order. And then one of them, one of the veteran knight-lieutenants, told them it didn’t matter, they were here for Corypheus and to avenge their lost comrades. But if they survived and came through it… maybe they might not need Circles, but there’d always be magical colleges and those would always have mages doing experiments and they’d always need warriors with magic dispelling abilities around in case something got out of hand, or apprentices and junior mages got up to mischief. And there’d always be mages out there using magic for bad things or to hurt people, and you’d need Templars to hunt them too. But perhaps most of the trained ones could be trusted to at least try and do the right thing most of the time. Because the Herald ordered mages should be free citizens like everyone else, and maybe she’s right. She’s right about most things.”

It didn’t sound like the Order Loghain remembered, but then again the Order he remembered wouldn’t have taken to turning themselves into monsters with red lyrium, turning on each other and slaughtering innocents at Haven.

“They’re not worried about abominations?” Loghain asked, surprised.

“Not really, I think they’ve got so much else to worry about I don’t think they care as long as one’s not ripping the Keep apart in front of them. Lucky for me, eh?” Anders laughed, wiping a tear away. 

Lucky indeed. Loghain just hoped that the Herald’s justice did a good enough job of keeping Anders’ in check. 

“Think you’re going to be OK being here?” Loghain asked, and Anders nodded.

“I think so,” he whispered. “I mean, she did it, didn’t she? She said mages should be free. All that fighting, all that death, and Elisif the Herald just staggers out of the Fade one day and says we’re not locking mages up in Circles any more, and it just happens??”

“I rather think there was more to it than that, pup,” Loghain said, recalling tales of a Tevinter magister almost stealing the rebels until a ragtag group of mercenaries and mages and the Herald’s little girl came to bring the warning of danger, and Elisif going to the rescue despite being cast adrift in time for a bit, and Haven under attack and Elisif preparing to sacrifice herself to save her people while Madanach led them to safety, and a Long March out of the ruins of Haven to Skyhold where they all would have died if not for Elisif and Maia the Stormbreakers keeping the blizzards at bay. An epic adventure already, but it was the sort of thing that bred loyalty. No wonder the Inquisition followed unhesitatingly.

“I know,” Anders said quietly. “I just wish we’d had her in Kirkwall. She’d have stood up to Meredith. She’d never have let it get as far as it did.”

Or it might have escalated sooner. But the past was past, and if the crimes of the past couldn't be forgotten, the future was looking brighter. And so Anders shifted back into cat form and curled up on Loghain’s blankets, and Loghain lay down to sleep, one hand petting the cat he swore he wasn’t fond of. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A knock on Madanach’s door and Madanach knew who it was. Wordlessly, he gestured and the latch undid itself, the door silently swinging open.

Most inhabitants of the castle might have found that a little creepy. But not the thirty two year old Reach-Princess who some were already calling the Blight Witch.

She’d come to see him earlier that day, seen him introducing Sir Pounce-A-Lot to Maia, and smiled from a distance to see it. But she’d not come closer. It had saddened him, and he’d wondered if perhaps he’d done something to drive her away. He’d not seen much of her since they’d settled in Skyhold. It had been bothering him. But she’d watched from a distance until the cat had finally taken its leave, and then as he’d realised it was getting late in the day and Maia needed feeding, Eola had sauntered up to him, stopped to fuss over her baby sister for a bit then casually asked if she could drop by later that night to talk. Alone.

Somewhat concerning but it would be nice to see her, so he’d agreed and now she was here.

“Good evening daughter,” Madanach drawled from the couch in front of the fire, indicating the low table in front of him with a spread of the finest Orlesian cheeses, meats and bread, with a bottle of fine red wine and two goblets. “Wasn’t sure what you wanted to eat so I told them a bit of everything. Come to think of it, I hardly ever see you eat. And whenever I ask Cicero, all he does is either ramble on and tell me nothing, or vaguely mention something related to meat.”

Eola laughed and slid on to the couch, accepting the wine with a smile.

“That’s my husband,” Eola said fondly. “One of the finest and most graceful dancers you will ever meet, and his personal speciality is dancing around a point until you quite forget it was even there.”

Madanach knew that feeling well enough.

“You sound like you’ve had more than your fair share of frustrating conversations with him,” Madanach observed, and to his surprise, Eola smiled.

“Not so many as you might think,” Eola purred. “Keep him dancing long enough, he forgets the point was there too, and then you can back him into it. The yelping is exquisite.”

Madanach had to laugh, although he found himself feeling slightly sorry for Cicero. At least until he recollected that Cicero was an irritating pain in the arse three quarters of the time and needed someone to keep him in line. He’d worry about it if the healers started reporting Cicero turning up with unexplained injuries and being very cagey about how he got them, but not before. As it was, the two of them seemed happy enough. 

So he left Eola’s marriage behind and offered her a plate so she could help herself, and after they’d both piled their plates with food in a way that would have scandalised Orlesian nobles, but would make perfect sense to anyone who’d ever had to go hungry, he settled back on the couch to talk.

“So, there was something you wanted to discuss,” Madanach said, eyeing her carefully. “Not in front of Maia. What’s up?”

“That cat,” Eola said, frowning as she stared into the fire. “They say it’s the Champion of Kirkwall’s, brought on ahead by Loghain the Traitor Teyrn. A recent acquisition from the sound of it, because I’ve heard Varric’s tales of Hawke, read the book, chatted to Bethany this afternoon, and no mention of a cat anywhere. I know Bethany was in the Circle for most of Hawke’s stay in Kirkwall, but she knew nothing of any kind of cat. Hawke had a mabari, not a cat. I can believe Hawke left the mabari somewhere safe if it’s getting on a bit in years, but not that she’d then decide to suddenly acquire a cat when she’s got a dangerous mission coming up. Domestic cats don’t travel well as adults, Da, they’re territorial sedentary animals. Something’s up with it.”

It did sound suspicious but on the other hand, Madanach was going to need a little more than this to investigate, and he told Eola this.

“I know, which is why I made sure to stand downwind of it,” Eola said, faint smile on her face. “Da, would you believe that cat has the Blight?”

No, Madanach would not.

“And how would you know that?” he asked sceptically. “You barely looked at that animal.”

“I can smell it, Da, you spend enough time around darkspawn parts, you start to recognise the smell,” Eola sighed. “You wouldn’t be able to detect it, but I can. And I’ve been working on a Detect Blight spell too. It’s giving a positive result on that cat. Now, it could be a false positive, but it’s working on all my darkspawn samples and not on anything else… other than that cat. Now, why is Hawke carrying a cat with the Blight around? If it had been infected by a darkspawn, why not just put it down?”

“Is she hoping to cure it somehow?” Madanach asked, even as he knew that wasn’t the answer. “Ugh, I don’t know, Eola. Can’t people have unusual pets sometimes?”

“It’s a Blighted cat, Da!” Eola cried. “We need to look into this! What if it’s a trap? It’s already charmed my little sister, but interestingly, not her mabari who barely stopped growling at it. Silvie agrees with me!”

Silvie tended to slink off whimpering whenever either Eola or Cicero walked in the room, so how Eola had managed to get a handle on Silvie’s emotions, Madanach didn’t know. But all the same, he could see the problem with a possibly compromised cat near his little girl.

“All right, we’ll track the cat down tomorrow,” Madanach sighed. “You don’t think they have Khajiit here, do you?”

“No, I got Cicero to ask Vivienne if Thedas had any sentient beastfolk, and she looked at him like he was an idiot and said no,” Eola sighed. “But she did go on to talk about rumours of shapeshifting magic among the Chasind tribes and Dalish, but reckoned that was the only situation in which you’d get animals that understood you. Unless a demon possessed it.”

Neither was anything Madanach wanted to hear. 

“Can demons get the Blight?” he asked. Eola shrugged.

“I don’t know. I considered infecting Cole but he runs away whenever he sees me. Their hosts could get infected though.”

Probably not actually a demon, but a possessed Blighted animal – or mage shapeshifter – was still a risk.

“Shapeshifting magic, huh,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “And demonic possession. Think two witches of the Reach can deal with that?”

It was a rhetorical question. He already knew the answer.

“Don’t worry, I know magic that can force a shapeshifter back into its original form,” Eola purred. “I just thought I should ask permission first before I went after it. Also it seems to like you. Did you want to lure it into a trap for us?”

“You’re not killing it,” Madanach said firmly. “I will find this cat, force it back into its human form, and then I will question it, and if it turns out to be a threat to the Inquisition, I will deal with it.”

Eola pouted but did not argue, and the conversation moved on to other things, such as the creepy undead horse that had been a diplomatic gift from the Mages Collective but that everybody was afraid of and nobody liked apart from Cicero and Eola, could she have the horse, please Daddy please.

“Did you ask Dennet?” Madanach sighed.

“He said it’s the Inquisitor’s, he can’t just hand it over to people without her permission,” Eola said petulantly. “So can I have it? Please? No one else wants the poor thing!”

She was of course right, and Madanach was happy to hand it over… but technically it was his wife’s.

“Tell you what, I will talk to Dennet and tell him I’ve said you can borrow it if you like. And when Elisif gets back, I’ll talk to her and maybe get it officially gifted to you if she’s OK with that. I think she will be, she’s presently all over that fancy barded one that Dennet wept to behold when it arrived.”

Eola actually squealed. 

“Yes! Thank you, Father. You are the best.”

She kissed him on the cheek and cuddled up against him, and the evening passed in quiet conversation, and Madanach wishing he could get his daughter alone more often, because she was good company and this was nice and Cicero was nowhere to be seen.

Despite a potential security hole in the form of a shapeshifting cat, this was turning out to be quite a nice evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered having Anders remain hidden until Here Lies the Abyss finished, but sadly for the narrative, the characters are all a bit too good at what they do. Specifically, the creepy Blight Witch Reach-Princess is just a bit too good at spellcraft that can flush out a Grey Warden. We'll see how that plays out next chapter.
> 
> Loghain's characterisation comes largely from the novel The Stolen Throne, which tells the story of the Fereldan resistance against Orlais, and how King Maric won his crown. It also tells the story of how the daughter of his main ally, Arl Eamon's older sister Rowan, who Maric was supposed to marry when old enough, falls in love with Loghain but ends up giving him up for her duty to the crown and breaks Loghain's heart. I don't know, it always makes me sad that the three of them never thought of coming to an arrangement. Cailan might have turned out better if Loghain had actually been his official third parent, maybe. Ah well. Too late now.


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders thought he'd found sanctuary at Skyhold, but safety's not on the menu when the Blight Witch is prowling. Fortunately, her King in Rags father is inclined to look kindly on a mage driven to extremes... but when his wife returns, will she look kindly on him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for smut, mentions of past abuse and banned books. Also there's a proper HAWKE NO moment. I really like writing Hawke. She just doesn't seem to know when to stop - Champions really aren't like normal people, are they?

Another sunny day in the Skyhold Garden, and the mysterious Sir Pounce-A-Lot was sunning himself on the well cover, unaware someone was on to him. Unaware that when Madanach appeared with his big green-skinned bodyguard at his back, more was afoot than a cat-loving former king wanting to take some time to fuss over a cute little kitty cat.

“There you are,” Madanach murmured as he stroked the cat’s back, calming spell subtly radiating out from his fingers. “Who’s a cute little kitty, eh? Is it you? Is it you? It is, isn’t it? You’re a cute kitty, yes you are!”

On the last word, a green paralysis spell locked the cat still, and Madanach swiftly scooped it up and carried it off, Borkul falling into step behind him, pre-woven illusions causing people to look away in confusion, unsure if there was anything there or not or why they’d looked in the first place.

Madanach made straight for the little chapel, unoccupied apart from a jester with red hair kneeling in front of Andraste, cheerfully if tunelessly singing “Andraste blessed me! Andraste blessed me! Her tears are my sins, my sins, my sins!” It was calculated to drive anyone else out of said chapel in seconds, and it had worked.

Cicero turned and beamed to see Madanach striding in with the cat, and as Borkul entered the room, Eola stepped out of the shadows and slammed the door shut, her back against it.

“You got him, good,” Eola said, raising her hand as Madanach laid the cat down. “Let’s see what we have, hmm?”

One tried and tested spell of the Reach later and the cat yowled as it morphed, the paralysis wearing off too late to stop the shift reversal taking effect. Then the cat was gone and in its place a man in his thirties with pale skin and reddish-blonde hair, wearing a scruffy mage’s tunic and a staff lying in front of him, which Borkul wasted no time in kicking out of his reach.

“What do you know, we got ourselves a spy,” Borkul said, grinning down at him. “You with the Venatori? And don’t try nothing, boss here’s put down plenty of mages in his time. And so have I.”

Cicero had said nothing, circling behind the mage in silence, quiet now but ready to pounce if required, and the mage couldn’t help but notice Eola blocking the door, smiling gleefully at him.

“I’m not with the Venatori,” he gasped. “Please, you have to believe me!”

Soft laughter from Eola.

“I don’t think we have to believe any such thing,” Eola purred. “You’re here, a strange mage, under false pretences – any ordinary apostate could just have walked in and offered his services, you know. You crept in in disguise.”

“Are we stabbing him yet?” Cicero asked cheerfully, and the mage noticed him for the first time and backed away, shuddering.

“Not yet,” Madanach said, carefully kneeling down to get a better look at the mage. “Let’s find out who he is first. You’re Hawke’s pet cat. Does she know you’re a shifter?”

Hesitation, and Madanach took that as a yes.

“So whoever you’re in league with, she is too – do we have her arrested as well as soon as she gets here?” Madanach asked, raising an eyebrow, correctly guessing this man might hold out on his own behalf… but not hers.

“No!” he cried, holding out a hand in horror. “Please, don’t hurt her, it’s not her fault! She’s just protecting me.”

“She ain’t doing a great job,” Borkul observed, but Madanach was no fool. He’d read Varric’s book on Hawke while in Haven, he’d talked to Varric about Hawke and her friends… and he’d spoken quietly to Bethany only that morning while dropping Maia off at the mage school to ask about mages Hawke might know. One name and one name only fitted this man.

“You’re Anders,” Madanach correctly guessed, and behind the guilty mage, Cicero had put his knife away and squealed, while Eola had also perked up. Borkul’s posture also relaxed.

“Isn’t he the one that blew up half a city and started the mage rebellion,” Borkul said, glancing at Madanach to see what the Inquisition position on Anders was going to be. 

“That’s him,” Madanach said cheerfully, seeing surrender and submission in Anders’s posture and no longer fearing a threat. “I’ve heard about you, boy. An awful lot of people in the free mages think you’re some sort of hero… and an awful lot of people everywhere else want your head.”

“I know,” Anders said quietly. “I didn’t want to! I didn’t want to kill. But I didn’t have a choice. Meredith was planning to annul the entire Circle. They didn’t deserve it. There were kids in that Circle. Bethany will tell you that!”

“Bethany told me she was an Aequitarian who really didn’t want to have to go on the run again,” Madanach said, recalling Bethany's not entirely enthusiastic support for the rebellion. “I’m not sure she’d be overjoyed to see you again.”

“I know,” Anders said, head still lowered. “I don’t expect her to be. I’m sorry.”

Silence around the room, all eyes glancing from Anders to Madanach and back, all a little uncertain as to where this was going, because as far as judging people for killing went, none of them were exactly innocent on that score. Including Madanach himself.

“I know,” Madanach said, reaching out and placing his hand on Anders’s shoulder. “So, what do we do with you, hmm? It’s only a matter of time before you get recognised, isn’t it? There’s a lot of ex-Kirkwallers here. Varric, Bethany, Cullen, and I imagine Leliana and Cassandra know enough to identify you if they had to. That happens, and I have no option but to arrest you pending a trial. So. While I still have options, what do I do with you?”

“What?” Anders whispered, looking up in disbelief, clearly having expected exactly that to happen. “You mean, you’re not putting me on trial? Or just killing me now?”

“We aren’t?” Cicero said, sounding rather disappointed. 

“We’re not,” Madanach said firmly. “Come on, I’m the Enchanter-General of the Free Mages, I’m on record as stating Circles are barbaric atrocities that needed tearing down. And… if I’m honest, I can’t sit back and let injustices happen either. If peaceful means aren’t working, then I’ll take up arms and go to war. I’m not going to condemn you for doing the same thing I would.”

Anders was staring up at Madanach, the last thing he’d expected to see from a senior Inquisition official being sympathy and understanding.

“You’re… pardoning me?” Anders whispered, hardly daring to hope, and Madanach had to say no at that point.

“I don’t really have the power to unilaterally tell everyone you’re now OK again and it’s all in the past,” Madanach sighed, rubbing his forehead, already regretting this a little. “Officially, the Inquisition has no idea where Anders is and isn’t looking for him. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve got demons, Red Templars, Venatori, Orlais on the brink of collapse and more things to worry about than one apostate who blew up a building that one time. Unofficially… look, you used to be a healer, right? Ran some free clinic out of Darktown for people the Chantry weren’t interested in helping.”

“Yes – where is this going?” Anders asked quietly. “I mean, you’re the Deputy Inquisitor, won’t the actual Inquisitor be angry if she finds out you were hiding a wanted apostate?”

“Probably, but I doubt she’ll be surprised,” Madanach laughed, getting to his feet and helping Anders up. “Look, you can’t stay around the Keep itself, but they are crying out for healers down in the camps. A competent mage healer based permanently down there would make all the difference. I’ll get you an amulet to make it harder for people to recognise you, you can give yourself a fake name, and then you can stay down there. In return you heal the Inquisition’s people. Oh, and on your days off, if you come up here in cat form and entertain Maia, I’m sure she’d like that.”

Anders didn’t answer. He couldn't. All he could do was try not to cry as he nodded agreement.

“Thank you,” he finally managed to whisper. “For – for not telling anyone. I don’t deserve it, you should be arresting me at the very least! But thank you. I’ll try my best to help people and behave. You won’t have any trouble from me. Or – or Justice. He thinks you should be arresting us, but he also thinks the Inquisition’s doing a good job and that Corypheus needs bringing in. So, he’s not going to complain as long as we’ve got a chance to help.”

“Good to know,” Madanach said, eyeing Anders and wondering if something could be done about the spirit possession at least. He’d have to have Eola researching it. “Tell me, if you could have Justice removed and sent safely back to the Fade without harming you… would you? Because I’m sure we could find a way. If you wanted that.”

“I...” Anders paused, clearly not sure about this. “I don’t know. I don’t think either of us know. It might not even be possible. But… if you think it might be… maybe? I mean, I – we – need to think about it. And talk to Hawke. It’ll affect her too.”

“Agreed,” Madanach said, patting his shoulder. “I won’t force you. Does anyone else here know who you are? Loghain?”

“He knows,” Anders admitted, grinning a little at that. “He’s at the stage of his life where he genuinely doesn’t care any more so he’s not telling anyone.”

“I’ll be sure to speak to him,” Madanach promised. “And don’t worry about these three, they’re loyal to me and not about to get a crisis of conscience over harbouring a wanted criminal any time soon.”

Mainly because their consciences were impaired at best, but Anders didn’t need to know that.

And so Anders shifted back into cat form and went with Madanach to the makeshift medical centre in the camps, consisting of a large tent with medical supplies in it, and another one next to it with the infirmary, and introduced Anders, now back in human form, to the dark-skinned elven nurse in charge.

“He’s an apostate but not with the rebels,” Madanach explained. “He’s a skilled healer, has been travelling Thedas since his Circle fell, healing people in need. And now he’s here, and I thought you could use him.”

“And what’s his name?” the nurse said, eyeing him up suspiciously. She’d never trusted shems at the best of times, but she supposed the mages had it worse than most. The Deputy Inquisitor was all right in her experience, so she supposed she could take his word for this dishevelled apostate of mysterious origins.

Madanach glanced at his mage friend and nudged him to say something.

“Tell Healer… Lindirinae what your name is,” Madanach said, reading the name off the nearby roster board and finally remembering who she was. He just hope he’d pronounced it right.

“Eh? What? Oh! Greagoir,” Anders said, coming up with the first thing that came to his head. The Templar Knight-Commander of Fereldan’s Circle, no one would imagine an apostate might call themselves that if it wasn’t his real name, would they?

“Greagoir,” Lindiranae repeated, not entirely believing this but being the first to admit a mage would be useful. “Well, Greagoir, let me show you around and find you a workspace. We get a range of things in here, but since Ferelden calmed down, most of the refugees from there have gone back if they didn’t join up. We get a few battle injuries where there’s not time to get them back to Skyhold, a few accidental injuries, the occasional birth, children’s illnesses… but infectious disease is the big risk. It’s a lot better since Commander Cullen started implementing the new sanitation protocols-”

“Which I came up with, you’re welcome,” Madanach interrupted gruffly, and Lindiranae did smile at that, nodding in his direction.

“And the new magical latrines are a godsend, even if half the camp’s too nervous to use them-”

Apparently latrines with a small portal to a remote part of Oblivion that opened to dispose of the waste weren’t everyone’s cup of tea. Despite the fact they were clean, easy to maintain, didn’t pollute the water supply – Madanach didn’t see the problem himself. Typically, Thedosians weren’t so keen… but even here, there were always a few adventurous souls willing to try them, and it seemed the benefits were being acknowledged as well as the downsides.

“-but we can always use an extra pair of hands and we’ve got a few people in the infirmary at the moment who aren’t responding to potions or who need more than a bit of elfroot. Come on, I’ll show you...”

Madanach left them to it, absolutely certain that once the two of them got bogged down in discussing medical details, any questions about Anders’s past would become irrelevant. In that, he was entirely correct.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

There was no official protocol for welcoming the Inquisitor back to Skyhold, not yet, but everyone who saw her pass stopped what they were doing and saluted, and as she and her party dismounted in the keep’s courtyard, handing horses over to be taken for stabling, word was sent out to certain key Inquisition personnel that Elisif was back.

“MAMA!”

Bethany had declared the mage school closed for the day on hearing Elisif had arrived, because Maia at least wouldn't be able to concentrate if she knew her mother was back, and Maia had wasted no time fleeing the classroom, mabari in tow.

“Baby girl!” Elisif cried, kneeling down to scoop her up and cuddle her, both heedless of the happily barking mabari dancing around behind them.

Alistair had handed his horse over to a stable-hand and stopped to watch this, torn between wanting to fuss over the dog and watch his girlfriend cuddle her little girl. Both were adorable.

And then he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked up and realised Maia’s father had made an appearance, strutting down the keep’s staircase with the wind in dyed blonde hair, that fancy blue robe of his flowing around him, and as he left the steps and made his way over, Alistair forgot how to breathe.

_Dear Maker._

He thought he knew what Madanach looked like, thought he’d come back, cuddle him and then… well, it’d be back to normal, right? Just cuddling his cute boyfriend in his arms and kissing him and it’d be nice, right?

He’d not expected to see the man strut up, those intense eyes of his boring right into him, cocky grin on his face, and feel the emotion as if he’d been physically struck. He’d not expected to lay eyes on him and feel so much desire and need and want hit him at once.

“Hello there, bion, did you miss me- mmph!”

Alistair had taken Madanach’s face in his hands and kissed him, wrapping his arms round Madanach and holding him close, fingers in his hair and moaning, because he had missed him. Really missed him. When he’d been waiting outside that cave, scared and angry and wanting to kill Loghain and worrying about Elisif, he’d wanted his boyfriend. He’d wanted to whisper his anger and his rage to Madanach, safe in the knowledge Madanach would listen, Madanach would _understand, _and that Madanach wouldn't hesitate to take action if he had to.__

__But he’d not been there and Alistair had had to wrestle with his emotions alone. And while he’d patched things up with Elisif and understood she’d had no choice but to follow up on this, he still worried, and he still wanted to confide in the one person who’d truly understand._ _

__“Maker, I missed you,” Alistair whispered. “I really did. I – you know about Loghain, right?”_ _

__“Yeah, I met him,” Madanach sighed, stepping back a little although his hands didn’t leave Alistair’s shoulder. “He’s the one who thought banning the Wardens during a Blight was a good idea, wasn’t he? The one you blame for Duncan’s death.”_ _

__Alistair nodded, lump in his throat and not sure he wanted to talk about it because there was a real risk of crying if he did._ _

__“What if he hurts Elisif,” Alistair whispered. “I don’t think I could bear it if I lost her as well.”_ _

__Madanach stroked his cheek, understanding in his eyes._ _

__“I know, cariad,” he said softly. “I couldn't bear it either. Which is why you, me and this whole Inquisition are going to make sure that doesn’t happen. I have Leliana watching him. I have Cicero keeping an eye on him, and he’s so far disappointed to report Loghain’s up to nothing other than drinking our ale and making rude remarks about Orlesians. Which I cannot remotely fault him for. But don’t worry. If he tries anything we’ll know.”_ _

__Alistair could feel his face warming up and tears in his eyes and he couldn't help but hug Madanach for all he was worth._ _

__“I love you, you know,” he whispered. “Thank you. _Thank you._ ”_ _

__Madanach’s embrace tightened and Madanach whispered back that he loved him too, and not to worry, it wasn’t all on Alistair, he knew that right?_ _

__Alistair nodded and kissed him again, but truth be told he still wasn’t used to not being alone any more. Still not used to two lovers who’d work together and with him. Still not used to the Inquisition being there to support him. But he was certainly glad of it._ _

__“ALISTAIR!!!”_ _

__And then there was the little fire-breathing pixie-girl, who he’d helped put to bed before now, and who would run up to him for a cuddle as often as she’d seek out her actual parents, and who’d draw him into her pictures alongside the rest of her family, and who’d just taken her parents acquiring a boyfriend in her stride… and who’d clearly missed him._ _

__“Hello! Did you miss me?” Alistair said, grinning as he let Madanach go and knelt down to give Maia a cuddle and then fuss over her dog. Leaving Madanach to reunite with his wife._ _

__“Hello love,” Madanach murmured as he drew his wife into his arms, feeling her mental state settle into the familiar contentment and happiness as she snuggled up to him._ _

__“Hello,” Elisif whispered, switching to Tamrielic. “I missed you. Alistair was really cross with me for bringing Loghain, but I didn’t have a choice! The Wardens are in trouble and I think Corypheus is using them to get a demon army! We need him. But I don’t like arguing with Alistair.”_ _

__“Did you at least talk to him about it?” Madanach asked. “You’re not still angry with each other?”_ _

__“No, we patched it up, but I don’t like arguing with him,” Elisif whispered, sounding very forlorn and sad about the prospect. “What if he’s gone off me?”_ _

__“He has not gone off you, he was worried about you,” Madanach told her, stroking her hair. “I’m sure he still loves you.”_ _

__“I know but it’s not the same,” Elisif whispered, tightening her grip on Madanach. “Ugh, what’s wrong with me? I was never like this with you!”_ _

__“We’d already argued about three times before we even got together,” Madanach said, grinning. “You knew me for who I was before we became lovers. Perhaps this is just part of getting to know each other for who you really are.”_ _

__Elisif pouted, looking as if she wasn’t entirely thrilled with Alistair seeing the woman rather than the Dragonborn Herald, but honestly if she wanted this to work, she’d need to get used to the idea._ _

__“He will still love you,” Madanach told her, running his thumb down her nose and stroking her chin. “Because you’re inherently lovable.”_ _

__Elisif did smile at that, and leaned in to kiss him, because despite a nearly seven year marriage and a new relationship, she did still love her husband very much, and he did always seem to know what to say to cheer her up. He was also a very good kisser, and Elisif quite forgot about the rest of the world for a bit… until Cicero happened to skip past, and for once, the resulting disturbance was not his fault._ _

__“EEEEEE! A jester! You’ve got a jester! Varric look, they’ve got a little jester! He’s adorable, isn’t he? I could just pinch his little cheeks!”_ _

__“Oh. No. Hawke, no, he is not… he is so not a real jester… Maker’s Breath.”_ _

__Elisif let Madanach go, and they both turned to see Hawke bending down and staring at Cicero as if she’d never seen a man in a jester’s outfit before. Cicero for his part had gone very still and was staring back at Hawke, unmoving, teeth gritted in what was definitely not a smile._ _

__“Juggling!” Hawke gasped. “Do you do juggling? Capering? Acrobatics? Please say yes!”_ _

__“Oh gods,” was all Elisif could say as she raced to intervene before Hawke ended up bleeding out in the courtyard. “Cicero! Cicero, this is Hawke, she’s Varric’s friend and the Inquisition needs her help so please don’t do anything hasty or… or irreversible, or… Hawke, this is Cicero, he’s not a professional jester, he just likes the clothes. He’s actually one of our best agents and an old friend of mine, aren’t you, Cicero!”_ _

__An arm round Cicero, because if you were pinning his right arm to his side, he couldn't go for a blade, and he did at least take his eyes off Hawke to pout at Elisif._ _

__“Cicero supposes the annoying Fereldan is useful to the Inquisition,” Cicero said wearily, switching to Tamrielic. “Cicero supposes if anything were to… happen to her, that would be… inconvenient.”_ _

__“Just a bit,” Madanach said, coming to stand on Cicero’s other side and rubbing his back. “Please don’t stab her.”_ _

__Cicero sighed heavily, apparently acknowledging the inevitable._ _

__“Fine,” Cicero sighed. “Besides, if she is a friend of Loghain’s, perhaps she bears watching as well. Perhaps it would be best if she does not take Cicero seriously.” Plastering his best fake grin on his face, Cicero turned to face Hawke, slipping effortlessly into the role that had lulled victims into a false sense of security before._ _

__“Hello, hello!” Cicero chirped. “Cicero has heard of the famous Hawke! The Champion of Kirkwall, who killed all those Qunari and went adventuring in the Deep Roads and whose boyfriend murdered all those people! Oh yes, pretty Hawke. Cicero has heard of _you!_ ”_ _

__Normal people would have backed off on seeing this. Normal people would have recognised the menace behind the jollity and found an excuse to cut the conversation short._ _

__The Champion of Kirkwall was not normal people._ _

__“Of course you have!” Hawke said cheerfully. “Everyone’s heard of me. I can hardly move for being recognised. It’s got me out of fights half a dozen times by now. Of course, it also started a fair few too. People are so unreasonable.”_ _

__“Cicero cannot imagine why anyone would want to stab the pretty Hawke,” Cicero said, fluttering his eyelashes and not remotely looking like he’d already imagined five ways to do that very thing in as many minutes._ _

__“I know!” Hawke cried. “It’s like they blame me for starting the mage rebellion or something. I didn’t know about the explosion in advance. And if it had been their sister slated for murder for something she didn’t even do, they’d have objected too!”_ _

__“Of course, of course!” Cicero purred. “But your sister is safe! Your sister is here! In fact… there she is! Making her way to the stables, no doubt to meet her man friend Blackwall! Pretty Hawke should say hello!”_ _

__“Bethany?” Hawked whispered, turning to see where Cicero had pointed and seeing the sister she’d barely heard from for over two years passing by in Skyhold’s lower courtyard. And for once, the cheerful persona faded to reveal Marian Hawke’s real feelings._ _

__“Herald, Deputy Herald, excuse me,” Hawke whispered. “Cicero, it was a pleasure. Varric, drinks later, yeah? I need to talk to my sister.”_ _

__With that, she was gone, and several of those present breathed a collective sigh of relief._ _

__“That is the Champion of Kirkwall,” Madanach said, disbelieving. “Varric, would you be offended if I asked how on earth no one’s killed her yet.”_ _

__“It’s not for want of trying,” Varric said, grinning. “But Hawke’s resilient. And a lot smarter than she pretends. She’ll be an asset, I promise. And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going. Need to find a safe place before the Seeker realises Hawke’s here.”_ _

__Elisif nodded, exchanging glances with Madanach as they both recalled that Varric only joined in the first place after Cassandra interrogated him, trying to find out where the Champion of Kirkwall was. He’d denied knowing at the time… but clearly that hadn’t been true._ _

__“Cicero, could you keep an eye on Cassandra if you get a chance?” Elisif sighed. “I have a feeling this won’t be pretty when she realises.”_ _

__“Cassandra _and_ Loghain _and_ Hawke _and..._ ” Cicero was starting plaintively at her, clearly already feeling the strain. It was Madanach who stepped in to pat him on the back._ _

__“Don’t worry about round the clock surveillance, just get us if a fight breaks out,” Madanach said, sounding surprisingly gentle. “I’ll have Leliana take care of the details. We’ve got a spymaster, let’s use her. It’s not all on you, Cicero bion.”_ _

__Cicero looked pathetically grateful, cuddling up to Madanach, and then Alistair appeared, patting Cicero on the back too._ _

__“Don’t worry, when we found Hawke she implied I had the pox,” Alistair told him. “Just because I’d been very lonely in Kirkwall and been looking for love in all the wrong places.”_ _

__Cicero's look of gratitude surprised Elisif, but she supposed Cicero wasn’t completely devoid of fellow feeling._ _

__“Cicero had a time in his youth like that too,” Cicero said, taking Alistair’s hands. “His mama had died and he was young and alone… and Cicero does not need the annoying Hawke making comments about _that_ either!”_ _

__Alistair patted Cicero on the back and gave him a hug and told him if he ever wanted to complain about Hawke, to come and find him, and Cicero practically beamed and before Elisif knew it, plans were being made to get together for non-alcoholic beverages of the nice Fereldan’s choice. Which was nice, if a little disconcerting, because Alistair and Cicero were the most unlikely friends going. Still, it was nice he was making them, and Cicero wasn’t completely conscience-free._ _

__It was just… worrying. But Cicero was extricating himself and skipping away, and Maia was tugging at her arm saying she was hungry, and it probably was nearly time for Maia’s dinner if not anyone else’s._ _

__“Come on,” Elisif sighed. “Let’s feed this one, and then perhaps an early night. This whole adventure’s been trying.”_ _

__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__Food for Maia, a bath for Maia, and while Elisif was tending to her little one, Madanach quietly whispered that he did need to speak to them both… but separately._ _

__And so it was Elisif ended up tending to Maia that evening and putting her to bed (a job which neither of them really minded so very much) while Madanach followed Alistair into his room._ _

__Madanach closed the door behind him, and turned to face his partner._ _

__“Now, tell me what you didn’t want to say in front of Elisif – mmm!”_ _

__Alistair had closed the distance and swept Madanach into his arms, and soon Madanach was lying back on Alistair’s bed with Alistair on top of him, mercifully having shed his armour a few hours ago in favour of something more comfortable and much easier to remove._ _

__“Gods I you miss,” Alistair whispered, in really appalling Tamrielic, but he was getting there._ _

__“Gods, I missed you,” Madanach corrected, rather touched he was actually making the effort to learn the language. “And yeah, so did I.”_ _

__Alistair grinned and began unlacing Madanach’s trousers, moving slowly downwards and taking Madanach firmly in hand as his cock sprung free._ _

__“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” Alistair whispered, returning to his native language. “Be patient with me, won’t you?”_ _

__Before Madanach could react, Alistair had taken Madanach in his mouth, and Madanach closed his eyes and moaned softly, because he’d not remotely expected this so soon but by the gods, it felt amazing._ _

__Fingers in Alistair’s hair and Madanach lay back, eyes closed and loving the way this felt because Alistair seemed to have picked this up already. Madanach bit his lip, trying not to cry out, trying to hold back, trying not to come because dear gods, Alistair was so not ready and would never do this again if he was forced to deal with Madanach’s come without warning._ _

__Alistair let him go, grinning at the pained cry Madanach gave and shifted back up to climb on top of him, kissing him and pinning him to the bed in the process._ _

__“I really missed you,” Alistair whispered in Madanach’s ear. “Can I watch you come? I like seeing that.”_ _

__Madanach nodded, biting his lip and whimpering, and Alistair took Madanach’s wrists, pinning them above his head and starting to move, not taking his eyes off Madanach, watching all the while as Madanach writhed beneath him, and Madanach couldn't stop himself, couldn't hold back any more, giving in and letting himself come, because Alistair was too damn good at this._ _

__Alistair leaned down and clung on to Madanach, thrusting harder, letting his wrists go and reaching down to touch himself, and soon Alistair was coming too, and Madanach knew he shouldn’t feel this way but by Sithis, he really enjoyed being used by Alistair and ending up covered in both their come._ _

__He didn’t move while Alistair wiped him clean and then made use of the water bowl left there earlier that day by servants who probably hadn’t anticipated it being used for Alistair to wipe semen off his lover’s stomach (or had they? If they’d spoken to Sera, this might be common knowledge by this point). And then Alistair dried him off, kissed his cheek and snuggled up next to him._ _

__“Are you ok?” Alistair whispered. “I mean, you enjoyed that, right?”_ _

__Madanach nodded, wrapping his arms round Alistair and cuddling into him, head against his chest, feeling safe and warm and happy and very much enjoying having a man in his bed again._ _

__“Yes, yes I am,” Madanach murmured, head against Alistair's chest and very glad indeed he was there. And then his brain, ever unable to let him just relax and enjoy a happy moment with his partner for once (ever alert for the potential violence and deciding to provoke it rather than wait passively for her to hit him or the kids), cheerfully reminded him he had things to tell him._ _

__“Stuff happened while you were gone,” Madanach said, planting a kiss at the base of Alistair’s neck. “Remember that Avvar you and Elisif killed? His da visited. Wanting to discuss the matter.”_ _

__Alistair immediately stiffened._ _

__“Oh balls,” Alistair said, looking distinctly nervous. “Um. Was he – er – cross?”_ _

__Madanach could reassure him on that point at least._ _

__“Surprisingly, no. Turns out the kid was not the favourite, and his relationship with the mother had been… difficult. Apparently to the extent that a dead son who’s in Sovngarde and died fighting a Dragonborn is preferable to a live brat who, instead of dealing with Tevinter trespassers like he was supposed to, decided to piss off the Inquisition. Yes, I know, I don’t understand Nords either.”_ _

__“You married one,” Alistair pointed out, stroking Madanach’s hair. “Also they’re not exactly Nords any more?”_ _

__“Don’t tell her this, but I don’t always understand Elisif either,” Madanach admitted. “And it also turns out they really are Nords. Liriel got a rubbing of the inscriptions, and we found out there were three languages in use, and two of them were Tamrielic in origin. One’s the dragon tongue that the Thu’um’s in and the other uses an alphabet called Daedric. Except it’s not the Daedric language. We realised the language was the Reachman language. The Alamarri really were Nords and Reachmen. You and me, we’re from the same people, Alistair! We’re very distant kin! You’re part Reachman and part Nord, many many generations back. Isn’t that great?”_ _

__“Oh,” Alistair whispered, sounding a bit confused and if he’d been asked, he’d have admitted he wasn’t sure how to react. “You’re sure about this? We – the Fereldans – we’re really from Tamriel originally?”_ _

__“Yes,” Madanach breathed, nuzzling Alistair’s neck because it made sense, didn’t it? Alistair was descended from Reachman and Nords, a child of Reach and Skyrim. He belonged with his ancestral homeland. Madanach had been meant to find him and bring him home, and he told Alistair this._ _

__Alistair listened to all this, biting his lip with a very strange expression on his face, and then he tilted Madanach’s face up to look at him and kissed him very gently on the lips._ _

__“I think you might be a bit mad, but no one’s ever said anything like that to me before,” Alistair whispered. “Thank you. I really love you, you know that?”_ _

__Madanach could feel his throat going dry as he cuddled Alistair, being reminded that Alistair loved him and that Alistair was a kind and caring man who would never hurt him._ _

__“I love you too,” Madanach murmured. “Very very much. Although… I should probably tell you something else.”_ _

__“Yeah? What did you do?” Alistair only sounded slightly nervous about this, which was something._ _

__“The Avvar chief wanted to know if we had the same customs his people did, regarding guest hospitality. Apparently it’s not uncommon among Avvar to invite visiting male guests to share a bed with you, partly to cement the friendship and partly because it makes a change from the same old faces and brings a bit of potential fresh blood into the mix. So he asked if I wanted to invite him to bed and...”_ _

__Alistair had gone very quiet and backed away, arms withdrawing from Madanach, and Madanach realised Alistair had jumped to exactly the wrong conclusion._ _

__“Madanach, no. Tell me you didn’t...” Alistair whispered, and the heartbreak on his face was horrible to see._ _

__“What – no, of course not!” Madanach protested. “I knew you wouldn't like it so I said no! I said I wasn’t allowed to on account of having not just a wife but a possessively jealous husband who’d rip someone’s arms off if he found me in bed with another man! That’s what I needed to tell you about. So that if he turns up again, you’re not completely blindsided by it, and can put an arm round me, grab my backside, and tell him I’m yours and he can’t have me. Or just stare at him and growl if you’d rather do that. Is – is that OK? And I’m sorry for saying you were my husband, I know you’re not, but I wanted him to take our relationship seriously and...”_ _

__Alistair’s expression had transformed, melting from heartbreak into joy and he was smiling despite a tear rolling down his cheek._ _

__“You said no because of me… and said you were my husband?” Alistair breathed. Madanach nodded, anxiety nagging at his mind, but he needn’t have worried. Alistair was practically beaming as he kissed Madanach’s forehead._ _

__“That’s… I don’t even know what to say. That’s so sweet,” Alistair gasped, actually wiping a tear away. “Thank you. _Thank you._ ”_ _

__“I told it to Loghain too,” Madanach added, deciding to get this in as well. “Not for the same reason, I might add. I just wanted him to know not to get any ideas.”_ _

__“You told _Loghain_ you were my husband??” Alistair was staring at him, and all Madanach could do was nod, and hope Alistair wasn’t too cross with him._ _

__He needn’t have worried. Alistair’s grin only widened and he leaned down to kiss Madanach again. It was a while before either man thought about speaking, but Alistair had to let him go eventually, forehead pressed to his._ _

__“You’re amazing,” Alistair breathed. “I love you so much, you know that? You’re just so amazing and sweet and caring and I just love you to bits. And I don’t have a problem with you calling me that. Really. I don’t. I mean, I know we’d never be able to legally get married, but maybe we could find a priest who’d do a ceremony or something. If Elisif agreed, of course.”_ _

__“Legally, if you come back to Tamriel with us, Elisif might be in a position to change the law to allow for multiple spouses eventually,” Madanach told him, cuddling up against him and wondering what Elisif would think about it. Well, she’d probably mostly be fussing over the politics. Which might be interesting, but on the other hand, Tamriel’s temples didn’t have the moralising influence the Chantry did which meant the Empress would be able to do as she pleased. More or less anyway._ _

__“It might be easier politically for you to be her second consort and then you and I can have a quiet ceremony away from the public eye,” Madanach said, closing his eyes and allowing himself to dream of the possibility. “But this is a long way off and you might change your mind about the whole thing, or be so homesick you end up leaving.”_ _

__“You need a home for that,” Alistair said bitterly… but his fingers were stroking Madanach’s hair. “Home’s where you are. It’s kissing Elisif and holding you and playing with Maia. I mean, I’d miss Mum, but I can’t stay with her my whole life. I wouldn't fit in in a mage’s college, would I? And that’s assuming they don’t put all the mages back in Circles when there’s a new Divine.”_ _

__Madanach couldn't see that happening, not now, but he promised he’d sort out asylum for Fiona if it came to that._ _

__“Chances are she’ll say no, she won’t want to abandon her fellows,” Alistair sighed. “But thank you for offering. And… Madanach. You mean the world to me. You know that, right?”_ _

__Madanach snuggled in closer, wondering just what he’d done to merit a beautiful Fereldan in his bed and in his life. But he wasn’t complaining._ _

__~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_ _

__It was some time later before Madanach finally slipped in to the Inquisitorial bedchamber, where Elisif, having long since tucked Maia up in bed and retired to bed to read by magelight, was waiting._ _

__“There you are!” Elisif scolded, although her tone was not matched by the smile on her face. “I was starting to wonder if I’d see you at all tonight.” She placed the book on her bedside table, and Madanach glanced at it, surprised to see it was a book of children’s stories from Rivain._ _

__“You’re reading children’s books now?” Madanach asked as he undressed and climbed in bed next to her. “I hope you’re not going to memorise them all and pass them off to Maia as your own.”_ _

__“As if I would!” Elisif gasped, a little appalled at that. “No, it’s just that we apparently intercepted a shipment of books banned by the Chantry and Leliana wanted to know what we should do with them. We don’t have a policy on banned materials yet, and we’re not bound by the Chantry’s restrictions. I told her I could hardly make a decision on books I haven’t read, so here I am, reading them all.”_ _

__“And there’s a book of kids’ stories in there?” Madanach asked, confused._ _

__“From Rivain, all of them so far making reference to either the Qun or traditional Rivaini culture in which magic is seen as a gift, spirits are frequently friends and helpers as often as they’re dangerous tricksters, and the Chantry’s notably absent. Apart from one or two stories which seem to be from Tevinter.”_ _

__That made a lot more sense to Madanach._ _

__“And what are we doing with it,” Madanach asked, making himself comfortable._ _

__“Honestly Madanach, it’s harmless,” Elisif sighed. “Some of them were quite fun, all of them were entertaining enough and there’s some valuable moral lessons throughout. I think I might give it to Maia.”_ _

__“Giving contraband literature to our child, shame on you,” Madanach laughed, although he knew full well that Elisif was morally opposed to the idea of banning books on principle. “What else have we got here – wait, the Randy Dowager, three issues thereof? The Carmenum di Amata?? Elisif, this is filth!”_ _

__“You were off playing with Alistair, I had to amuse myself somehow,” Elisif said tersely, placing the storybook aside and turning her attention back to her husband. “Now, if you are quite done criticising my taste in literature, are we perhaps going to actually bed each other tonight?”_ _

__Madanach grinned and his lips met Elisif's… and then he remembered he had things to tell her and he’d be in trouble – more trouble – if he had sex with her first._ _

__“I have things to confess,” he admitted. “Got a bit ahead of myself and told Loghain Alistair was my husband. Said something similar to that Avvar chieftain who visited, you know, the da of that one you killed. Don’t worry, we don’t owe weregild. His son was a real pain in the ass apparently. But he did try and chat me up so I told him I had a jealous husband who’d kill him. Alistair finds this funny and has agreed to act the part if he ever visits again. But… you might not think so. I’m sorry, love.”_ _

__Elisif leaned over and kissed his forehead._ _

__“Don’t be,” Elisif said gently. “I know you really care about him. One day, when I’m Empress, I will declare multiple marriage legal if I can, or maybe even just declare he’s going to be my second consort and to hell with the rest of them. And then Alistair can be with us, and if you wanted a ceremony from a priest of Mara, I’d happily arrange it.”_ _

__Madanach smiled a little, having anticipated she would probably forgive him for that. But possibly not for the other thing._ _

__“Also I’m sheltering a wanted apostate fugitive with a price on his head and we’ll lose half our allies if anyone finds out, please don’t hit me.”_ _

__Elisif’s smile faded as she stared at him, eyes unblinking and cold like a Skyrim winter, and Madanach had feeling the next few minutes were going to very much resemble having a glacier roll over him._ _

__“What,” was all Elisif said, clearly wanting a further explanation, and Madanach, heart sinking, launched into details._ _

__“Hawke’s cat that Loghain brought here. Eola found out it wasn’t what it seemed, and she and I apprehended and unmasked it. Turns out it is Hawke’s boyfriend Anders, who managed to learn shapeshifting magic from somewhere. You know, the apostate who blew up half of Kirkwall. I find it hard to believe Hawke doesn’t know.”_ _

__To his surprise, Elisif’s expression actually changed to one of shock… and guilt._ _

__“The cat’s a… of course he is,” Elisif sighed. “That’s where that strange mage went. And that was Anders, gods of course it was, why am I so thick??”_ _

__“You’re not – wait. You knew?” Madanach asked, wondering where on earth Elisif had met Anders. Elisif could only nod wearily._ _

__“We were ambushed by red Templars and I was injured and this mage healed me,” Elisif sighed. “No one else saw him, and after the fight, he was nowhere to be seen… but Hawke called her cat over. I should have guessed something was up, who just travels with a cat?? I don’t know, Hawke just seemed the type to be weird.”_ _

__“Disguising her apostate boyfriend under the guise of personal eccentricity,” Madanach said, almost impressed. “That’s actually impressive. She’s smarter than she appears.”_ _

__“Don’t I know it,” Elisif sighed. “So, we have Thedas’s most wanted apostate right here in Skyhold. And rather than arrest him, you’ve done… what did you do?”_ _

__“He’s out in the camps, working as a healer there,” Madanach admitted, sensing his wife’s wrath had passed and that he’d weathered the worst. “We did need more proper mage healers out there, and now we’ve got one. Hopefully he’s less likely to be recognised out there, and if he is, I will deny everything and tell everyone he just turned up and gave a fake name. He’s aware that’ll happen. Elisif, please. We need Hawke onside, she won’t help us if we arrest her boyfriend.”_ _

__“Don’t tell me that was remotely your prime motivation for not bringing him in,” Elisif snapped. “I know damn well you support what he did. I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t think blowing the Blue Palace up would help your cause.”_ _

__Silence as Madanach flinched away, because no way would he ever consider doing that now, but his younger self would have certainly had it as a potential option if he’d thought it would help, and there was nothing he could do to change that. Nothing other than whisper he was sorry, flinching away from Elisif… and just as he could physically feel her bitterness, she could feel his contrition – and she relented._ _

__“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. But you’ve put me in a very difficult position, Madanach!”_ _

__“I know,” Madanach said quietly. “I’m sorry. Are you going to bring him in?”_ _

__“How can I, Hawke will be livid,” Elisif snapped. “I don’t need an angry assassin who’s already proven she’s cunning on my hands. I suppose he can stay where he is for now. But if he’s caught, I will have no option but to put him on trial, Madanach. And I have no idea what options I’ll have. For all I know I’ll be forced to execute him.”_ _

__“I know,” Madanach said, not liking that idea at all… but he could tell she didn’t either. So she didn’t hate him at least. It was something._ _

__“Still, it might not come to that,” Elisif said gently, clearly feeling his change in mood and leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I’m glad you told me. At least if it does come out I’ll be prepared. What Hawke was thinking, I don’t know… but maybe she just couldn't bear to leave him behind.”_ _

__She’d come to put her arms around him as she spoke, and Madanach recalled her deciding to declare for mage freedom not out of principle but because she couldn't bear the thought of her baby being taken away, and he remembered she made some of her best decisions from emotional responses. Including signing on with him… and marrying him. She was clearly thinking something similar, because she’d smiled and started to kiss him, and Madanach decided this meant he was forgiven. Whatever happened, they’d face it together. As they always did._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is more Hawke focused as she adapts to her new home, then there's a couple of scenes from in game, possibly including Cassandra's reaction. :D
> 
> After that, I'm going to look at having Borkul do Josie's personal quest and THEN we might actually be ready for Halamshiral, who knows.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke's settling in at Skyhold, making a few new friends... and reuniting with old ones. But her arrival's caused a stir, and while Elisif's dealing with her advisors' problems, it turns out the real issue is with the Seeker and the dwarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personal stuff happened. I lost my writing mojo for ages. But I have material written and so here it is. This is collating several Skyhold cutscenes into one, mainly Leliana blaming herself for Haven, Cullen's lyrium reveal, and to round off, the Cassandra and Varric fight. Have fun!

Hawke meanwhile had, after reuniting with her surprised sister and then meeting her boyfriend (boyfriend?? Her baby sister had a boyfriend?? Well, he seemed nice enough, she supposed. She could deal with him later if he wasn’t) headed for the tavern. She’d heard Loghain was there, and maybe he’d have news on a certain cat he’d had when he left.

Loghain was indeed there, laughing and joking with a… Hawke hadn’t a clue what this woman was. She looked sort of elven? Or… a lady Qunari without horns? Maybe lady Qunari didn’t have horns. Not like she’d ever seen one. But the woman had pointy ears, strange slanted golden eyes, golden skin, red hair, a tunic reminiscent of a mage’s robe, and several empty cups on the table in front of her.

Loghain for his part was sipping a pint and grinning at her, clearly enjoying her company, and not seeming at all worried by the big burly battle-scarred Qunari male on the woman’s other side, who was glaring at him with his one remaining eye. Hawke guessed he was probably the woman’s boyfriend.

“Loghain! There you are! Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all, Liriel was just telling me her opinions about Orlais,” Loghain said, indicating the woman. “So far, she’s not impressed.”

“You can slap as much gold leaf onna outhouse as ya like, it’s shtill an outhouse,” Liriel slurred, eyes going cross-eyed and little sparks circling her head. Oh lovely, a mage on top of that. No wonder she’d gone off Orlais. The Chantry’s rhetoric about non-humans and mages must have driven her up the wall. “An’ the next noble who callsh me rabbit, Imma turning him into one.”

“Wait, you can do that?” the Qunari asked, alarmed, even as Loghain laughed out loud.

“Not exactly,” Liriel said, sounding a bit defensive. “But I bet it’s poshible. Bet Materacca Kireen knowsh ‘ow.”

Hawke did not want to know who or what a Materacca Kireen was, but she took a seat, being always willing to hear Orlesians being trashed.

“I killed an Orlesian duke once. He was trying to do some sort of deal with a Tal-Vashoth to get a list of names of Qunari agents. Nearly started a war apparently. Well how was I supposed to know he was a personal friend of the Empress?”

Loghain laughed and raised a glass to her, and Liriel giggled, cheeks going pink.

But the Qunari actually smiled, nodding in thanks.

“Chances are good my name was on that list. Name’s Iron Bull. _The_ Iron Bull. I like having the article there, makes me sounds like I’m not a person, just some mindless implement for killing things.”

“Yourra notta implement, yourra person!” Liriel snapped at him, sounding more indignant on his behalf than he did. “Everyone’s a person. Even the Tranquil. Even the _Orlesians_. Jus’ about.”

“ _Barely,_ ” Loghain sniffed, sipping his pint. But The Iron Bull’s whole expression softened as he patted Liriel on the back and smiled at her.

“Thanks, Tam, but you don’t need to worry about me. I know what I am and I’m OK with it.”

“’m not,” Liriel whispered sadly, leaning against his shoulder and burying her face in his chest. “Yourra more than a killin’ machine.”

To everyone’s surprise, Bull’s grin widened and he kissed the top of her head before getting to his feet, helping Liriel up as he did so.

“All right, I think Liriel’s had enough for one night. Come on, come with me. Time for you to have a lie down and sleep it off.”

Liriel went with him but was still pouting. 

“Yourra NOT a killing machine,” Liriel said firmly. “Yourra PERSON.”

The effect was slightly ruined by her staggering against Bull’s side, but he had an arm around her to steady her and helped her out. 

“All right, Tam, if it makes you happy,” Bull laughed, but Hawke saw the look in his eyes and realised that underneath the good humour, Bull was secretly surprised… and a little emotional. As if no one had ever told him that before. As if he’d never even considered the idea of being anything else before. Very strange. Hawke knew a little of the Qun and knew Qunari were given a role and either devoted their lives to being good at it or became outcasts – and while she understood Bull might see his role under the Qun like he did, what she’d not foreseen was this strange lady-Qunari-elf-whatever insisting he was more than that… and him responding to that with interest. Questions, questions.

“So, Loghain, what’s the deal with Liriel?” Hawke asked, picking up Liriel’s abandoned tankard. “Is she Qunari too?”

“Not exactly,” Loghain said, leaning back in his seat. “She’s a High Elf. A kind of elf I never saw before. I asked her what a High Elf was and she just grinned and said she was. I swear, she’s worse than you sometimes.”

“But you were buying her drinks,” Hawke noted. “And she clearly can’t stand Orlesian nobles, so you’ve obviously got lots in common.”

That did make Loghain laugh. 

“That’s how we met,” he admitted. “She was hiding behind a door to the Great Hall, trying to pluck up the courage to cross it. It was full of Orlesian nobles. With their damn masks. Well, it turns out it’s the masks that are bothering her. She’s scared of them. Doesn’t like the way they don’t move. It’s creepy and wrong and she’s quite right. So I listened, echoed her thoughts on the foppish arseholes, and offered to escort her to the tavern where her Qunari boyfriend would be. Was going well too until one of them saw the ears and called her rabbit. I’d have called her husband out but that was when the woman’s corset lacings broke on their own causing her outfit to fall apart. We took advantage of the chaos to leave. And here we’ve been since. I must say, I didn’t expect to be making friends with an elven mage, but she’s quite charming. Shame about the boyfriend.”

“Yes. Quite. And talking of boyfriends...” Hawke nodded pointedly at Loghain, hoping he’d take the hint and tell her where Anders had got to. Mercifully Loghain had never been a fool.

“Ah. Yes. There’s been a development. Take yourself into the camps and find the healing tent where Healer Lindiranae is in charge. Ask for Greagoir. He’ll answer your questions.”

“He’s… what??” Hawke gasped, realising that this meant Anders was in human form, working as a healer, dear Maker what was he _thinking?_ “Right, I need to go. I’ll see you later, Loghain.”

“Wait, you’re just leaving me here??” Loghain protested. “In a tavern full of Orlesians and Cailan-supporters?”

He was probably exaggerating, but Hawke sighed and went over to where Dorian had been lingering, quietly drinking his own beer and shooting glances at Loghain Mac Tir. He wasn’t Orlesian, probably wasn’t too fond of them, and as a Tevinter, likely didn’t care one way or the other about the Battle of Ostagar. He’d do.

“Dorian!” Hawke said cheerfully, hoping this didn’t sound too fake. “Loghain’s feeling lonely and needs someone who’s not Orlesian and doesn’t have an opinion on Ostagar to keep him company, you’ll help won’t you? Wonderful, have my seat, here’s some money for ale, but be warned, if Loghain starts complaining about how Ferelden couldn’t even get itself conquered by proper oppressors, but the most effete foppish arseholes to walk Thedas, that means the maudlin self-loathing has kicked in, he’s had enough and you should escort him back to his quarters. See you both later, have fun!”

With that she was gone, leaving Loghain lost for words and staring at a Tevinter mage who in his eyes was barely better than the Orlesians, but who unbeknown to him was nursing quite the crush.

“Well,” Dorian said after a few moment’s silence. “If the Champion of Kirkwall is buying the drinks, I for one am taking advantage. Don’t worry, after a few pints of the Dwarven ale you’ll quite forget about the scary mage from Tevinter part. I’m harmless, really. Just think of me as an oversized mabari.”

Dorian should be so lucky, but Hawke had paid for the drinks, and at least he wasn’t Orlesian. Small mercies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Out the gates, down the track, hood up, keep to the shadows, listen to conversations and take advantage of the glowing green crosses that adorned the healing points. Then make for the biggest one in the middle of the camp… and under the lantern out front, she could see him silhouetted, advising a young elf with a sprained wrist to rest it for the next few days, apply ice and when the swelling had gone down, start with the exercises he’d shown her.

“You’re not even going to use magic?” the elf said, pouting.

“Not for this,” Anders said calmly. “I used loads just now delivering a baby, I’ve not got it to spare for a minor injury. But if you’re no better in a week, come back, I’ll take another look at it.”

The elf sighed and left, only whining a little bit about what was the point of magic if people didn’t use it for anything, and Hawke wasted no time slipping silently into the tent, grabbing Anders’s shoulder and turning him to face her.

“What are you doing here??” Hawke hissed. “You were supposed to be in hiding in the keep, not out here where anyone could find you! What if someone from Kirkwall sees you??”

Anders said nothing, just holding out a hand and pulling her behind the screen where his bed could be found, sinking down onto the pallet with her.

“No one will see me, Madanach gave me an amulet, no one will recognise me, promise,” Anders whispered to her. “Only if they’re actively looking for me, and only about five, maybe six if Madanach told his wife, people actually know I’m here. I’ll be fine.”

“What if you’re not??” Hawke hissed at him, angry blue eyes flashing at him from where she was lying on top of him. “Maker, I knew I should have put you on that boat to Rivain.”

“I’d never have endured the Calling without you,” Anders said quietly, kissing her cheek. “Madanach’s amulet helped drown that out too. I’m barely aware of it now.”

“Because it’s almost certainly not real,” Hawke said, growing sombre. “Maker, I hope the Inquisition can help. Elisif seems capable but...”

“They’ll help,” Anders said, appearing perfectly calm. “Hawke, I didn’t have a choice about unmasking myself. Madanach’s daughter, Eola, she has some spell that mimics a Grey Warden’s abilities. She could detect the Blight. She knew I wasn’t really a cat, and she told her father, who laid a trap for me. Along with his massive Qunari-ish guard, and Eola’s creepy husband with the hat and the knives. It’s only sheer luck that it turns out he’s a keen backer of mage rights and decided I was more use down here.”

Hawke shivered at the thought of Anders in trouble. It just didn’t bear thinking about. If Madanach hadn’t supported the cause, or if he’d been the stern upright type, Anders might be in the cells by now.

“And Justice?” Hawke whispered, resting her head on his chest. “How’s he doing?”

“Believe it or not, better than he was,” Anders said, grinning. “He’s no longer insisting we turn ourselves in… because we got found out and the punishment was to end up here. He’s surprisingly calm, if a little disappointed. I guess it helps he remembers the Wardens kindly and wants to save them, and thinks the Inquisition is doing good work.”

It was something. Hawke put her head back down on Anders’s chest and closed her eyes, listening to him breathe, just glad her mage was OK and alive and seemed happy and… 

If anything happened to him, she’d kill someone. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Elisif’s morning had been a nice one so far. First Madanach waking her up in a very cuddly mood and doting on her non-stop. She’d asked what was up and he’d told her all about Liriel’s findings on the Avvar, and how they were descended from a group of Nord and Reachman colonists who it turned out had left Tamriel during the notorious Dragon Break era so tracing their origins would be anyone’s guess. But Madanach had told her the use of Dovah and Daedric alphabets and an ancient form of the Reach tongue and Tamrielic itself proved the connection, and he and Liriel had written to various allies and contacts to share an edited version of this.

What it also meant was that Alistair had Nordic and Reach ancestry, so it was only right they find him and bring him home.

“Him and over half a million others,” Elisif said, laughing as she stroked her husband’s face while he cuddled her from behind. “Go on.”

“And it meant they were friends,” Madanach said, turning serious. “Allies even. One community, and the Reachmen were respected enough that their important tales were translated into their language. Our people were working together, Elisif. We weren’t fighting.”

“Nords and Reachmen mostly aren’t fighting now,” Elisif said, puzzled. She turned to face him, wondering what this was really about. “Why, what’s this really about?”

Madanach hesitated and then snuggled in close, head resting on her shoulder.

“Means it’s OK for us to be together,” Madanach said quietly. “Really OK. Signing up to join you was the right thing to do. I don’t have to feel guilty or worry that I betrayed my people. Our tribes were friends once, and ended up so close that they became one people, and their original war leader was actually a mage. We’re not fated to fight, Elisif.”

“We don’t fight a lot anyway,” Elisif whispered, running fingers through his hair and rubbing his scalp, a gesture that always seemed to relax him. “We argue a bit sometimes, but we’re usually on the same page, most of the time. I… didn’t know you felt guilty? About being with me?”

“I don’t, not personally,” Madanach said, voice gentle as he kissed her collarbone. “But as leader of the Reachmen, I always worried if I was doing the right thing by my people. I mean, they seem to mostly have accepted it, and getting to fight Nords legally and officially under your banner endeared you to them. Plus being around Nords in Windhelm I think softened a few opinions. I think they just saw them going about their business and realised perhaps they weren’t all bad. Still, I worried. But I don’t need to any more. I can just love you and take care of you.”

Elisif had wiped a tear away and kissed him, and they’d stayed that way until Alistair had knocked on the door then promptly walked in with Maia, wishing them good morning at the top of his voice with a grin on his face.

Well, the big family cuddle pile had been nice anyway.

Once up, Maia had been wrapped up warm by her father, acquired a whole sack of toys from somewhere (she’d later find out these were donations from nobles who’d pay good money to bring their children for a tea party with the Herald’s child) and gone off with Madanach, Alistair, a few guards and her 200-pound war dog to distribute them to kids in the camps. Apparently this was far preferable to the tea parties.

“The noble children can be a bit annoying sometimes,” Maia confided quietly to Elisif. “But the toys are nice. And the children in the camps really like the toys and then they’re really pleased and then they’ll play with me! I like getting to play with them! We built a snow Orc last time! And Cicero was teaching us how to skate on ice! We only fell down a couple of times. Cicero didn’t fall down at all, he was really good at it! He was doing spins and everything!”

Elisif just bet he was. 

“Well, don’t copy Cicero until you’ve got the hang of the basics, he’s had years of practice,” Elisif told her, recalling Cicero’s tales of youthful escapades in the Imperial City’s ice festivals, during the relative cool of the winter when the Mages’ Guild would ice over a large portion of Lake Rumare. Wayrest had had something similar, and Elisif had fond memories of her father teaching her how to skate and telling her tales of Skyrim. The idea of Maia learning almost made up for the thought of her baby falling on the ice and hurting herself. Still, Maia didn’t seem too bothered. And Elisif couldn’t quite stop herself from feeling a bit emotional at one of Maia’s favourite things being giving toys to needy refugee children.

“Well, I can’t play with them all and the other mage children are in lessons more than me, and Suzette says some of these are baby toys, so I don’t mind,” Maia said, shrugging. “And… some of the children in the camps had to run away from monsters too, and some of them were at Haven too when the red monsters came, and they were scared and… I wanted to help.”

Maia had been saying similar things before Elisif left, worrying about the children in the camps, and children in general who might be having bad things happen, and it had been all Elisif could do to promise her the Inquisition was doing what it could to help. Maybe this would help Maia worry a bit less. It was definitely something to encourage, and so Elisif kissed her and told her she was very proud and it was very kind of her to want to help other children like that, before handing her over to her father.

“Borkul not with you?” Elisif asked, surprised not to see the big Orc accompanying Madanach.

Madanach rolled his eyes as he adjusted the fur-lined cape he was wearing over his usual clothes.

“Not today,” Madanach sighed. “Apparently Josephine needed him for something. Some sort of massive favour she can’t entrust to couriers? I’d have said no, but she’s got this look she gets in her eyes, you know? So, I might be without Borkul for a bit. Good thing I’ve got an Alistair, isn’t it?”

Alistair arrived at the sound of his name, only going slightly pink as Madanach patted his lower back.

“I’m always happy to watch your back, you know that,” he said cheerfully. “Only I’m not very good at threatening to rip people’s limbs off. Borkul’s so much better at that. You want someone intimidated and threatened, he’s your man. I envy him sometimes. No one’s intimidated by me, they just pat me on the head and tell me how cute I am.”

“They’re not wrong?” was all Elisif could say to that, trying her best to seem apologetic. Madanach didn’t even bother with that, just kissing him on the cheek and cuddling him.

“I think you’re intimidating!” Maia chirped up, which did not improve matters as she didn’t sound or look remotely intimidated, and indeed wasn’t, as gentle questioning from her father revealed she didn’t really know what it meant and thought it just meant brave.

“Not exactly, inyeen,” Madanach admitted, barely holding back his laughter. “It means someone is good at scaring people.”

Even Maia had to admit at that point that she wasn’t scared of Alistair.

“Monsters probably think you’re scary?” Maia offered hopefully, and Alistair laughed, picking up the sack of toys and ruffling her hair.

“Hope so, I’ve killed enough of them,” Alistair said, and Madanach took Maia’s hand and led them all out of the keep. Leaving Elisif on her own and with no idea what to do with herself – well, maybe she could check in on her advisors. Perhaps she could see what her spymaster had been up to lately. Not to mention brief her on the traitor agent that Charter seemed to think they had in the ranks who’d set up that Templar ambush.

So up the stairs she went, noting that Dorian for once was nowhere to be seen in the library (a chat with Fiona revealed he’d been up half the night in the tavern getting utterly wasted with Loghain – last time she’d seen them, Loghain had been drunkenly telling Dorian that he was OK with Tevinters, at least they had the decency to be properly and obviously evil, not like those fucking masked arseholes in their stupid brightly coloured silk outfits). And then it was up the stairs after leaving some things for the research team, to where Leliana was sitting at her desk, looking utterly miserable… and being comforted by Cicero.

“Sweet Leliana must not blame herself,” Cicero was saying, kneeling by Leliana’s chair and squeezing her hand. “It was not her fault! You were not to know!”

“It’s my job to know!” Leliana cried. “If I had left them out in the field, waited for more information, I could have bought us more time! Instead, I pulled them all back… and we lost Haven.”

Leliana indicated the silver scroll on the table, which Elisif would later find out contained the names of all those lost either in the attack or the aftermath. But her main concern right now was her spymaster.

“Leliana, are you all right?” Elisif gasped, coming to stand on Leliana’s other side. “What happened??”

“It is nothing,” Leliana began, doing her best to pull herself together, but Cicero was having none of it.

“Leliana is upset and blaming herself because she thinks saving her agents’ lives doomed Haven,” Cicero sighed, clearly having been trying to talk Leliana round for some time already. “Cicero is trying to tell her it would have made no difference! A casualty here or there maybe? A little extra time to run? And we lose some of our best agents in the process? That would make it harder to operate now! Cicero knows some of these people! They’re very skilled! Hard to replace! Invaluable operatives! They are not like warriors who you can train up in weeks and who are prepared to give their lives, and who you can replace in a few hours by walking into any tavern and telling gullible young people tales of glory. It takes years to train a good agent! YEARS!”

Cicero’s pointed stare reminded Elisif that Cicero knew what he was talking about from personal experience, and he did have a point. Spies weren’t warriors, although many could fight one on one.

“He’s right,” Elisif said gently, taking Leliana’s hand. “Our people aren’t expendable. Maybe we’d have gained an advantage but it wouldn't have changed the outcome much. Not so much that was worth losing good agents over. They had a dragon, Leliana!”

“Yes, which is why any advantage is worth-” Leliana began. Elisif cut her off, empathy warring with a Dragonborn’s impatience.

“Leliana!” Elisif cried. “We are _better_ than that! We do not sacrifice Inquisition, ally or civilian lives unless the resulting gain is truly worth the cost. If we save the world, we have to ensure it remains a world worth saving. If we’re fighting on the side of principle, we can’t lose ours.”

“And if we don’t have a choice?” Leliana snapped. “If the only way to win involves atrocities?”

“Then I’ll make that decision,” Elisif said firmly, trying to ignore the little chill down her spine and the dragon within whispering it could come to that. “It’s not your call.”

_And if anyone has to sacrifice themselves, it will be me._

_Madanach will not like that. And Maia will be heartbroken._

_At least she’ll be alive and safe enough to cry._

Something in Leliana seemed to respond to that, because she took a deep breath, inclined her head and smiled.

“As you wish, Inquisitor.” Elisif wondered if that was relief she was hearing, relief at no longer having these decisions on her shoulders. Regardless, Leliana seemed happier and a glance at Cicero confirmed he seemed pleased too, beaming at Leliana.

“Also Leliana needs to remember that her agents need to survive long enough to get the information back to her,” Cicero added. “Their information is useless if they are too dead to return it.”

“Very true,” Leliana laughed, cheering up. “Well, I will think on this no more. We have work to do, no? Inquisitor, you did not come here to talk about my problems, surely. Did you need something?”

Elisif recalled she did indeed have a few items of note, principally the potential traitor in their spy network who’d arranged for Butcher’s death and the ambush Elisif had walked into, and she passed Charter’s notes on to Leliana.

“I’d suspected something,” Leliana said through gritted teeth. “Leave it with me, I will have a look into it. Permission to mark myself unavailable on the war table while I root them out? I don’t think it will take long.”

Elisif agreed, and Leliana turned away to get back to work before something seemed to occur to her.

“Oh, Cullen was here earlier? Said to tell you he wanted to talk to you about something. In private. He wouldn’t say what it was about but he’s been on-edge for days. I think it might be a personal matter.”

A personal matter? Odd. Cullen was a very private person, and while Elisif knew about his previous experience as a Templar, she knew very little of his family or any personal life he might have outside the Templar Order or Inquisition. In fact, there was an excellent chance he didn’t have one.

Taking her leave, and steering Cicero away so Leliana could work in peace, Elisif went to see what her military commander wanted.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

She found him in his office, hands on his desk, standing over it and glowering at a wooden box that he slammed shut when he saw her walk in, as if he was feeling guilty about her seeing it. 

As if she’d just walked in on Madanach staring at a Skooma bottle or Alistair staring at a shot of whisky. Staring at it like he couldn’t let it go and hated it at the same time.

Something of what she was thinking must have shown in her eyes because he took a deep breath and seemed to let some of the tension in his shoulders go.

“Inquisitor,” he said, standing to attention. Gods, was Cullen actually capable of relaxing? Elisif had to wonder.

“Cullen,” Elisif said, keeping her voice gentle and soft and reassuring. “Leliana said you needed to talk to me about something. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, I...” Cullen looked down at the wooden box, which looked to have a painting of Andraste on the lid. “Inquisitor, there is something that, as leader of the Inquisition, you need to know.”

Ominous. But Elisif looked at the box, thought back on all Alistair had told her about Templars, all Cassandra had said about the Chantry, and what Cullen himself had told her, and she had a feeling she already did.

“What’s in the box,” she said quietly. Cullen closed his eyes and sat down, hands pressed to his forehead.

“The equipment used to administer the daily dose of lyrium all Templars take. It gives us our powers to control magic… but at a price. The withdrawal symptoms include pain, madness… even death.”

She’d heard the stuff was damaging. Alistair had said as much. How he’d not seen many old Templars, and the few older ones they did have seemed to be really losing their minds. He’d opted for the Grey Warden taint instead and Elisif didn’t think it had been a better option.

But addiction… she knew about that all too well. Madanach still couldn’t have things with moon sugar in them.

“Does this have anything to do with what you need to tell me?” Elisif asked, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. Cullen nodded grimly, lowering his hands to the desk.

“I used to take lyrium while serving as a Templar but since joining the Inquisition… I no longer take it.”

Memories in her mind of Madanach fighting Skooma cravings, clinging onto her while the shakes wracked his body and later whispering to her details of a dealer in her very city, please get rid of them, he needed temptation out of his way (she’d passed the information and a large amount of coin on to Cicero, and the matter had been handled within weeks). And poor Alistair, surrounded by it day in day out, sipping tea and whispering prayers to Mara and shutting himself in his room of an evening if he couldn’t get reliable company to distract him. And now her military commander as well? 

Skyhold was going to need one of those support groups at this rate.

“But that could kill you,” Elisif whispered. “Are you all right? Do you need a healer? Someone to talk to about it?”

“No,” Cullen said curtly, and Elisif had heard that tone before. It made her more, not less, worried. “I mean, thank you, Inquisitor but I have an arrangement with Cassandra. As a Seeker, she can evaluate the danger. If she thinks I can no longer fulfil my responsibility to the Inquisition, she will relieve me of my duties.”

“And what happens to you?” Elisif whispered, being fully aware that the biggest indicator of successful recovery was the addict finding a sense of purpose, belonging, connection. Keeping their jobs, or finding a role, were crucial. It was why she kept Alistair close, or left him with Madanach, and why for that matter she always made sure to keep Madanach busy and make sure he had a place of status that made the most of his skills. 

If Cullen was to have any chance of a life without lyrium, he’d need to keep his Inquisition job.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cullen said, gritting his teeth. “The Inquisition is what matters. I’m telling you because as Inquisitor, you will be the one choosing my replacement. For what it’s worth, Rylen’s a good man and capable leader.”

Elisif knew that, the man who’d found out the Herald had a mage daughter who Templars tried to kill, and reacted by getting the Inquisition’s Templars to paint over their Templar crests so as not to upset a traumatised little girl was fine by her. But he wasn’t her concern right now.

“I’m never going to have to,” Elisif told him, leaning forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to do this, Cullen. I will find you help if you need it. Maybe you’re OK right now but if that changes, I want you to know I will help you.”

Despite himself, Cullen almost smiled.

“You would say that. Leliana keeps complaining about you insisting on having faith in the good in people and in her specifically. I do try not to laugh. I’ve never seen anyone so offended by someone having the nerve to believe in them. Josephine keeps telling her a Herald of Andraste perhaps needs to be an iconic figure of aspiration who embodies people’s highest virtues and not to take it personally. I’m not so sure Leliana agrees.”

Having had to tell Leliana something like this only half an hour ago, Elisif couldn't say he was wrong, and she felt blood rushing to her cheeks. Which made Cullen’s smile broaden.

“Don’t look so worried. I like having a commanding officer with a moral core and a compassionate heart. It makes a nice change. I… if you think you can help, I appreciate it. I should be fine for now, you have more important things to think of. But if that changes, I will accept whatever decisions you make.”

He might regret that if she assigned Madanach as his sponsor. Maybe Borkul might be a better idea. Alistair was out of the question. All the same, a support group of some sort might help, for all of them. But only if Cullen was ready to accept help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

On leaving Cullen’s office, the first thing Elisif saw was Cole appearing in front of her. Literally. He’d not been there… and then he was.

“You’re needed,” Cole said simply, before Elisif could scold him for not giving some warning of his approach. “They’re fighting.”

“Wh- who’s fighting?” Elisif cried, wishing Cole could remember other people couldn’t read minds.

“Varric and Cassandra,” Cole explained. “Seeking a solution, hunting the Hawke, needing a Champion before they had a Herald. Inquisitor Hawke, hope of humanity, but flown the coop, nowhere to be found. Cassandra sought answers, Varric had a story… but the story’s ending didn’t end truly and Cassandra knows that now.”

“Inquisitor Hawke – Hawke’s _insane,_ ” Elisif cried, hardly daring to think about where the Inquisition might have ended up with Hawke in charge. “Gods, where are they, I need to stop this.”

“In the forge,” Cole said, and then vanished before Elisif could ask him anything else. Cursing under her breath, Elisif ran to find them, because Varric wasn’t a match for an angry Cassandra and everyone knew that.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT!” was the first thing Elisif heard on entering the building, the forge oddly quiet as the Inquisition’s smiths had all stopped to listen in. Upstairs, Varric was ducking and weaving, feet clattering on the floorboards as he deftly avoided Cassandra’s swing.

“Cassandra, no!” Elisif cried, the only one brave enough to intervene and catch Cassandra’s right wrist. “Don’t hit him!”

Cassandra turned and actually growled at her, before recalling Elisif was Inquisitor now and calming herself down.

“Varric has lied to us, Inquisitor,” Cassandra snapped. “Varric has been keeping vital information secret all along. Corypheus, Hawke, who knows what else.”

“Hey, I found out Corypheus was still alive and involved the same time we all did!” Varric protested. “And as for Hawke… you kidnapped me! Interrogated me! You’re damn right I didn’t tell you where she was!”

“The Inquisition needed her!” Cassandra cried. “The world needed her! You had a responsibility-!”

She’d been moving back towards Varric again, looking like she was about to have another go, and it was only Elisif’s arm stopping her, a hand on Cassandra’s abdomen pushing her back.

“He was a private citizen, and you didn’t have the force of law behind you,” Elisif said softly, stepping in between them. “He had no obligation to tell you anything.”

“I had the Divine’s remit,” Cassandra began, and Elisif’s eyes narrowed.

“And is Varric an Andrastian? They let dwarves in the Chantry? That’s not what dwarves and Chantry sisters alike have told me,” Elisif said, folding her arms and almost daring Cassandra to come at her. “Seems to me most of Thedas’s problems of late have their roots in the Chantry behaving like it’s an Empire and we’re all its subjects.”

“The Inquisition is little different, and you of all people should not lecture me on the evils of Empires,” Cassandra said, glaring fiercely at her and was it Elisif’s imagination or had the room got that bit colder. “The Chantry has done the Maker’s work for centuries now. We are a moral authority in ways you don’t even begin to understand. Our work is sacred.”

“Law is sacred,” Elisif heard herself say, remembering the Empire’s motto and the sentiment behind it – law once passed should not be broken. Not even by rulers. Akatosh knew she didn’t always live up to it, but at least she knew that the common interests of all Tamrielites did not lie in law being ignored completely.

“Laws are passed by humans. The Maker’s Word is-” and Elisif knew that this would only lead to a fight far more vicious and bitter than anything Cassandra might do to Varric, and her Inquisition would be the first casualty of many.

“You were seriously going to put Hawke in charge of the Inquisition?” Elisif demanded, changing the subject to one that anyone who knew Hawke, the real Hawke, would not consider that controversial. Mercifully, Cassandra seemed willing to go along with the topic shift… for now at least. Elisif would take that as a moral victory if not a political one.

“We needed someone to unite the people, someone who mages and Templars alike might listen to,” Cassandra explained. “Lyra Surana was nowhere to be found, and truth be told, there have always been rumours of her using dark and forbidden magics. Against the Blight such things are permitted, but as leader of an Inquisition that must engage with humanity and set a moral standard? No. So we looked for another that might unite warring factions and tried to find the one who’d started this mess. The Champion of Kirkwall.”

“The Champion of Kirkwall who was an assassin by trade, is an outspoken advocate of mage freedom by any means necessary, takes nothing seriously and is _completely insane??_ ” Elisif shouted, finally losing her temper.

“Not completely!” Varric interrupted, perhaps feeling an urge to defend his friend… but he was smiling. “Just… a little.”

Elisif glared at him, and Varric hastily backed off. Hawke after all was not actually present… and probably wouldn’t have disagreed with Elisif’s assessment.

“You can’t possibly tell me she’d have been a better choice for leader of the Inquisition,” Elisif snapped, turning her attention back to Cassandra, and Cassandra admitted defeat at that point – partially.

“She was all we had,” Cassandra said, anger giving way to pain, and it wasn’t exactly an improvement but it did mean less chance of Varric getting beaten up so it was something. “Eccentric she may be but she has a record of getting things done, of doing the impossible. If she had been at the Conclave, who knows what might have happened. She might have been able to save Most Holy!”

And there it was. That was what it was really about. Not Varric lying to her, not really. But Hawke not being there to save Justinia. Elisif should have guessed.

“I don’t think anyone could have saved Justinia,” Elisif said gently, hand on Cassandra’s back as she steered her to the table and sat her down, pouring her a goblet of wine. “Cassandra, Hawke wasn’t there, but I was. You saw me in the vision with Justinia there. She told me to run. Corypheus had her prisoner. But I don’t think I ran. I think I tried to save her.”

“I believe you,” Cassandra said, voice quiet as she stared at her hands. “Varric, go. Hawke’s with us now. I suppose that is all that matters.”

Varric got up and left, but not without one parting shot.

“If Hawke had been at the Conclave, she’d have died too.”

Elisif couldn’t really argue with that, so she didn’t bother, just waving Varric away and turning her attention back to Cassandra, aware of work resuming downstairs once it was clear the show was over and no one was getting beaten up today.

“Are you all right,” Elisif said, finally feeling it was safe enough for Cassandra to show vulnerability. Mara knew it didn’t happen often. Cassandra grunted, staring at her drink.

“Ugh. No. That dwarf is an irritating…” Cassandra sighed and let her shoulders sag, apparently ready to admit it hadn’t been all Varric’s fault. “He is who he is, Elisif. In truth, I’m not even angry at him, not truly. I am angry at myself for not seeing it sooner. He spun his story and I believed him. I should have seen he’d be more loyal to Hawke than to any concept of the common good. I should have pressed harder, should have looked more closely. If we’d found Hawke sooner, if she’d agreed to help…!”

“I don’t think things would have turned out any better,” Elisif said, by this point calm enough to override her emotions and go for the more diplomatic approach. “She’s really not the religious sort. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m here now. You made me Inquisitor. You don’t think I’d have saved Justinia if I could? That I’m a worse Inquisitor than Hawke would be?”

Cassandra did have to laugh at that.

“Hardly. You’ve shown sensible judgement and undoubted bravery in the brief time I’ve known you. And you are not even Andrastian. You never had her teachings to guide you – how is it you’ve been able to show more wisdom and moral feeling than the Chantry Mothers?”

Elisif wisely decided that her real feelings about the Chantry were probably best kept to herself.

“Back home, it’s our actions that define us,” Elisif told her. “For a Nord, it’s not your beliefs but the story you leave behind you that matters. Honour in life, glory in death. Act how you’d want people to remember you, and go out fighting. Papa always said the reason Nords valued dying bravely is because once you die your story’s over, but while you’re alive, you can always change the plot. So you have to live well while you’re alive, and when you die, make sure it’s in a way that’ll make a good story. Andraste managed that, but so have plenty of other people. We can’t go through life only thinking one story is important, and we can’t spend all our time meditating on someone else’s story and neglecting our own. I think that might be the Chantry’s problem.”

Cassandra was pursing her lips, as if she didn’t entirely agree with this… but Elisif could also tell it had got her attention. Of course it had. One warrior to another, and anyone who picked up the blade and wanted to be seen as righteous would likely warm to Nordic beliefs. What was a warrior without honour? A bloody-handed murderer, that was what.

“You are not what I expected,” Cassandra said at length. “They call you Andraste’s Herald, but everything you say is so at odds with the Chantry’s teachings. Maybe that is the Chantry’s fault. Have we travelled so far from Andraste’s will? Well. Clearly something has gone wrong or we would not be where we are now. But I have to believe the Maker is watching over us still. Perhaps it is his will we never found Hawke earlier. Perhaps that is why he sent you.”

Elisif recalled Arngeir telling her many years ago that Dragonborns were sent into the world at times of great need, and Esbern exclaiming in delight that her arrival meant there was hope, that the gods had not abandoned them.

Perhaps it really had been Kyne who sent her here. Maybe. 

“Perhaps,” Elisif said gently. “In which case, you don’t need to hit Varric, do you?”

Cassandra ruefully admitted perhaps the Maker had a use even for annoying, smooth-talking dwarven rogues, and Elisif relaxed, deciding this conversation had gone about as well as it could have done. About time to check how Varric was doing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She found him in the Great Hall, sitting by the fire, head in his hands, anything but comfortable. Guilty, if she had to pick a word.

“Are you all right?” she whispered, hand on his back. Varric flinched.

“Cassandra’s calmed down, she’s not going to hit you again,” Elisif told him, hoping that would help.

“Define ‘calmed down’ in terms of who or what she’s punching now,” Varric muttered, before taking in the look on Elisif’s face and deciding perhaps that was a little uncalled-for. “Look, I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have invited Hawke sooner. But she’s here now, right? We’re all on the same side! I’m trying to help!”

“You told everyone Corypheus was dead,” Elisif recalled, remembering her advisors flat out not believing her on Varric’s word.

“Because he was! At least, we thought he was. Who knows what sort of weird creepy Blighted Daedric blood-magic he’s got access to.” Varric shivered at the thought, and Elisif believed that he’d not known about that at least.

“Who’d you pick Daedric up off,” Elisif asked, knowing full well most of her Tamrielic companions here simply used it as a value-neutral descriptor rather than the moral judgement most Tamrielites would give it.

“Princess, believe it or not, she was telling me all about your religion. It was fascinating, particularly the part where she’s not sure if Daedra are evil or not, but the demoted Divine Talos definitely is. You, er, might want to have a talk with her about that.”

“If I was sure myself, I’d tell her,” Elisif sighed, who by this point knew too many Daedra-worshippers to write them all off as evil cultists. “Never mind that. I believe you, Varric, and I totally understand why you never invited Hawke sooner… but others might not. You need to not be keeping anything else from me! I’m not going to be able to protect you if it turns out you kept things from me as well.”

Varric nodded, and Elisif was getting up to leave, judging the conversation finished… until he called her back.

“Wait. Something you should probably know. Might be nothing. I don’t even know myself. I’d like to think she wouldn’t but… she is just that crazy.”

No need to ask who she was.

“What happened?” Elisif sighed, sitting back down again. “What has Hawke done?”

“It’s that cat of hers,” Varric said, choosing every word very carefully. “Only she never had a pet cat back in Kirkwall, and it’s weird she acquired one now, a super-loyal one that hasn’t run away at the first sight of a Fade rift. I don’t want to cause trouble, but I have got my suspicions that it’s not...”

Elisif hadn’t expected to feel so relieved that the deep dark secret was something she already knew.

“I know,” she told him, trying not to grin at the shock and relief on his face. “Madanach had suspicions too, followed them up and found out the truth. We… are going to leave the situation as it is for now. Until the Warden situation is done with. Or if our hands are forced. It’s not doing any harm right now. As long as it stays that way, we’ve got bigger problems than one cat.”

“You… seriously?” Varric ruffled his hair, not sure what to do with himself now he really didn’t have any secrets to keep. “Wow. I mean… shit. I mean… yeah. You gotta know this is gonna be a whole bunch of trouble if it gets out, right?”

Didn’t she know it. But her husband had made the decision, and she was stuck with it. 

“Then help make sure it doesn’t get out,” Elisif whispered. “Right now, it’s trouble I don’t need. But thank you for telling me. I know that can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Varric admitted. “But… there’s something about you, Blue-eyes. You’re honest. And you don’t have an agenda. You aren’t slavishly following the Chant or what the Chantry says is the Maker’s will. You think about what the right thing to do is and why. Or sometimes you don’t think at all and just act on impulse and do it anyway and it all works out. I don’t know if you’re touched by the Maker or if the Maker even exists… but I do know I can trust you. You’re not going to do anything stupid.”

Madanach already had in Elisif’s opinion. But she’d deal with it somehow. And as for Varric… she trusted him as well. Despite knowing he was involved in all sorts of shady dealings in Kirkwall’s seedy underbelly, Elisif could tell he had more integrity than most. He had an imagination, unusual among dwarves, and a desire for a better world than currently existed. More than anything else, he was her friend and she liked him. 

It was nice to know she could trust him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is Josie's personal quest - Borkul's doing it so it's involved rewriting, but there's a good time being had by all. Sort of.


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Borkul's always liked Josephine, and when she asks for his help for what should be a routine errand, he's happy to help. But there's no such thing as a routine errand in Orlais, and when the Game takes a dangerous and unexpected turn, it will take all the resources of Borkul and friends just to survive. It's a good thing he knows some resourceful people, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have not abandoned this. I just got stuck writing it but I think I've moved past it. This is the lead-in to Josephine's quest, which Borkul is doing rather than Elisif. We can't have the Inquisitor's time wasted on errands, but it turns out Borkul's more than happy to help. I also haven't gone with the canon setup either. Josie's not sending random couriers to walk into a murder plot, Borkul's taking the paperwork, and he's bringing the murderbeasts to help. And then Vivienne invited herself along too, which was good because she really turned out to be helpful. Warnings for stabbing, blood, offpage cannibalism and Orlesians.

This had been a mistake. 

This had been a dreadful, dreadful mistake.

Specifically, bringing this lot had been the worst idea Borkul had ever had.

It had all started when Josephine had called him into her office and nervously asked if he could help her. She needed some paperwork delivering, and Madanach had implied she might be able to borrow his bodyguard if she wanted rather than hire couriers, so here she was, asking for help. Apparently her family had been barred from trading in Orlais long ago due to some noble dispute, but Josephine was looking to get this overturned. This paperwork would hopefully do the job and allow her to restore the family fortune.

Borkul had seen the hope in Josie’s eyes and said yes immediately. And immediately panicked as soon as she’d gone, because this could go horribly wrong. It seemed routine – just go to Val Royeaux, file the paperwork, collect the receipt and go home. 

Borkul was an experienced enough warrior to know these things were never routine. Anything could go wrong en route. And paperwork? Bureaucracy? There were some enemies even an Orc feared.

Which was why his first port of call was Cicero. He’d been to Val Royeaux. He was Imperial, he must have dealt with officials before, and best of all, he could intimidate people without actually saying anything violent. Borkul had always secretly admired him for that.

Cicero had been happy to help, but he’d then suggested bringing Sera, who knew the back alleys of the city like no one’s business and might have contacts, also he had to ask Eola… who’d thought about it and decided she was coming too. Which Borkul could have lived with, always useful to have a mage in the party.

And then Vivienne had overheard the discussions and invited herself along. Because they would need someone of sufficient importance to ensure they got heard and dealt with. Which, yes, was a valid point… but having her along was doing Borkul’s head in, particularly with Sera added to the mix.

“Viv! Vivvy! VIVVY! Look at this!”

Vivienne didn’t even bother looking by this point.

“It is your bottom, dear. As bony and sad as it was the last time you got it out and waved it around.”

Cicero was by Borkul’s side, eyes firmly ahead of him, but Eola did turn to look.

“Sweetie, you need to keep it in your pants, a lady might get ideas,” she purred, much to Sera’s disgust.

“Nothing ladylike about you,” Sera snapped, pulling her pants up, and for a while there was quiet. Until…

“Everyone look away! I need to pee.”

“Oh by Sithis, again? Cicero swears you emptied your bladder barely half an hour ago!”

“Really, will the two of you ever acquire any decorum whatsoever regarding your bodily functions?”

A pause. Then in unison…

“EVERYONE LOOK OVER HERE! VIVIENNE NEEDS TO PEE!”

All right, that was pretty funny. But it didn’t change the fact that Borkul was travelling with two juvenile adults, one vain aristocrat and a creepy maleficar.

He really wished Madanach was here. Then it’d be his problem. But they were still a day away from Jader and the ship to Val Royeaux, and until then he was stuck with them.

Things did not improve once they’d camped for the night either. Cicero seemed on edge about something throughout dinner, Eola seemed more paranoid about wards than usual, and what with Vivienne and Sera ignoring each other, it wasn’t the best meal he’d ever had.

And then Cicero cheerfully announced he was off to relieve himself, outside camp, all on his own, and might be some time.

“You do that, sweetie,” Eola said, hand reaching for her mace as she watched him go, and while Sera snickered and Vivienne tutted, there had been something in Cicero’s manner. As if he’d not intended that announcement for any of them.

Which begged the question, who the fuck else was out there.

“Do I need to worry,” Borkul murmured to Eola, who had Detect Life going in her free hand.

“Have Volendrung to hand,” Eola said quietly in Tamrielic. “I do believe things are about to get exciting.”

Vivienne might not understand the language, but she’d seen Eola and Borkul reach for weapons and picked up her staff.

“Am I to understand we might be under attack?” she sighed, and that prompted Sera to reach for her bow as the unmistakeable sound of a death gurgle echoed around the camp.

“Yes,” Eola said calmly. “Sera, shoot the one just behind my right shoulder, I’ll deal with the one sneaking up on you.”

Sera only just got out of the way of the firebolt in time, but had good enough reactions to get an arrow into the one that had just broken cover behind Eola. And then an unearthly howl went up from outside the camp, a fire rune exploded and all hell broke loose.

Screaming and rending of flesh from outside the camp. Eola summoning undead things from the Soul Cairn inside the camp. Vivienne’s barriers being enough to save them from no doubt poison arrows, and Sera screaming in terror at the undead summonings even as her arrows found their targets. And Borkul got to cave in the heads of at least two of them, his armour proof enough against mere daggers and the last thoughts of some hapless assassins being that they might have bitten off more than they could chew.

The fight ended with the camp in chaos, several assassin corpses littering the ground with broken masks and bloodstained silk indicating Orlais as their place of origin, and Sera shouting at Eola that what the fucking fuck were those things, walking black skeletons just appearing out of nowhere was not normal!

“And this is why mages need to be careful in their use of magic, my dear,” Vivienne intoned. “Quite apart from whatever bargain in the Fade was required to get that power, do you not think using it in front of common people will just stoke fears of magic further?”

“Hey, firstly I didn’t make any bargain, Cicero picked the relevant spell tomes up as souvenirs when he had to visit the Fade once, and second, should I just let the assassins kill you next time?” Eola said sweetly, and at that point Cicero reappeared, pulling his shirt back on.

“Hello, hello!” Cicero chirped. “That was exciting, wasn’t it? Cicero searched what was left of the bodies of the ones he killed, but didn’t find anything to say who sent them. Annoyingly, they are devoid of anything in the way of written orders or identifying marks.” 

“Standard practice for a professional assassin’s guild, my dear,” Vivienne sighed, levitating corpses out of the camp. “I’d suspected we were being followed for some time. I’d wonder if it was personal, but these are not that well armed, not for an encounter with the likes of us. I suspect that means they were hired to deal with whoever was delivering Josephine’s paperwork, which means they prepared for mere couriers, not two mages, one assassin, one professional bodyguard and… Sera.”

Borkul knew, he just knew, this wouldn’t be routine. Thank Malacath he had brought Cicero after all. And… he supposed the others were going to be more use than he’d thought.

“So someone doesn’t want the Montilyets getting re-established in Orlais,” Borkul growled. “Wonderful. That means we’re likely to get more of these. We’re going to need a watch tonight. And keep an eye out later on. Gods, Val Royeaux’s probably their home turf, place’ll be a death trap.”

“Should we go back, tell Josephine she has enemies?” Eola asked, glancing around and casting Detect Life again. “Maybe Leliana can help.”

“Josephine likely knows she has enemies, my dear, she’s played the Game long enough for that,” Vivienne said, rolling her eyes as she gathered sufficient magic to ensure her tent at least was standing once more. “If we turn back, any future attempts will be met with the same, except more so because they know not to expect mere couriers. However, if we keep moving, we can be in Val Royeaux before they realise the attempt has failed. We may be able to file the papers and be on the next ship home before they are any the wiser.”

It would likely not be that simple, but damned if Borkul was giving up.

“We keep moving,” Borkul growled. “We’re not letting Josie down. Ya think we can’t stay a few steps ahead of assassins? Ya think Cicero here doesn’t know what to look for?”

“Cicero will keep watch tonight,” Cicero said cheerfully. “One of the tents was hit by a fireball anyway, we are one down. Pretty Eola will join me?”

Eola was happy to, and everyone else retired to bed, Vivienne in her own fancy silk pavilion, and Borkul sharing a tent with Sera, whose snoring was mostly bearable and at least wasn’t one of those pains in the ass who slept diagonally. 

Even so, it was a while before he got to sleep, and it wasn’t the sound of the campfire being restoked, knives at work carving meat from bone and the smell of burning human flesh that was bothering him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Aside from Cicero and Eola claiming not to be hungry and that they’d eaten earlier, and Cicero kicking what Borkul could swear was a femur into the bushes, breakfast went smoothly and then it was making their way at speed to Jader. No one really talked much, all eyes glancing nervously into the shadows and Eola casting Detect Life at intervals.

Jader itself and once an Inquisition seal got them past the gate guards, Vivienne imperiously insisting they were on the Herald's business (‘darling, if they’re after Josephine’s agents, claiming to be the Herald’s envoys will buy us at least a little time’), it was straight to the docks and onto the next ship to Val Royeaux.

Whereupon Cicero searched all their cabins and declared them trap and poison free, and it was agreed they’d eat nothing that wasn’t from the communal pot or their own rations. And once the ship was under way, it was simple enough for Sera to discreetly go through the things of their fellow passengers and rule people in or out as potential assassins.

They found one bard who might or might not have a contract to kill someone. Their orders were vague but the equipment was all there.

“Well, they’re clearly up to no good and they’re not Leliana’s,” Eola decided. “Let me deal with the problem.”

The bard was found inside their locked cabin looking like they’d been hacked to death with a great-axe, and Sera was definitely heard hissing ‘you are just wrong!’ at Eola. But the voyage was otherwise uneventful, despite Cicero being seasick for most of it. And then Val Royeaux was within sight.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it!” Cicero chirped and Borkul had to agree. Shiny gold towers, brightly painted buildings, and everything just seemed so colourful. Eola was the only one not at least a bit impressed.

“It’s an eyesore,” Eola muttered, glaring at it. “Look at it. All that paint, all that glitter, all to hide the rot within. Everything decays, Cicero. Better just to accept it.”

Cicero, who spent most of his spare cash on make-up, red hair dye and anti-wrinkle cream these days, spluttered and glared at his wife and muttered that there was nothing wrong with wanting to look pretty.

“Yeah, and you look pretty without the make-up,” Eola told him. “You’re better looking with the blood of your enemies all over you. I could say the same about this place.”

Cicero seemed mollified a little.

“That could be arranged,” Cicero cackled, already glancing around for suspicious characters. “No doubt we will be followed within hours of leaving the ship, if they are not already watching. Do you think they will try and stab us tonight?”

“They can try,” Borkul growled. “All right, Josie booked us into a hotel...”

“Which will have been infiltrated in advance as a precautionary measure,” Vivienne said dismissively. “If we go there, we can expect traps in our rooms, poison in our food and daggers in the night. No, we need to make alternative arrangements. The booking was solely under your name, yes? Mine not mentioned? Excellent. In that case, might I suggest L’Hotel de Ghislain? It is the town house of the Ghislain family – the current head of the family is a very close friend of mine and a longstanding member of the Council of Heralds. The Duke is presently convalescing at the country estate outside the city, so the house is unoccupied with no guests expected. But the staff know me personally, and so it will be no great matter to ensconce ourselves there. Unprepared, it will not be as comfortable as I would like but it will serve.”

Twelve years in Cidhna Mine had left Borkul happy with bedding down virtually anywhere. He’d take it – and he’d also be willing to bet an Orlesian’s idea of barely fit to be seen was anyone else’s idea of sumptuous luxury.

So flagging down a hired carriage it was, and once away from the docks, Cicero, who’d been riding alongside the driver partly to enjoy the view and partly to ensure detours weren’t taken, promptly pressed a sedative soaked rag to his face and took the reins himself, bringing the carriage to a halt.

Without a word, Borkul got out, picked up the driver, hauled him into the main cab, and kicked a complaining Sera out.

“You didn’t have to do that, the driver’s not in on it!” Sera cried.

“We do not know that!” Cicero protested as Sera climbed in next to him. “Even if he is what he seems, people can be suborned! It is necessary, Sera! And this is the merciful route! We will leave him in his own cab with sufficient gold to cover the inconvenience. All will be well.”

Sera grimaced but said nothing more on that topic, giving directions to the Ghislain house and complaining about Cicero’s driving instead.

And so it was the carriage arrived at the tradesman’s entrance at the back, where some surprised kitchen hands on their break found themselves roped in to carrying luggage inside.

“Madame Vivienne, we were not expecting-” the maitre d’hotel gasped, wringing his hands over the house not being remotely ready for any guests of standing.

“Of course not, darling, that’s the point,” Vivienne sighed. “Have my usual room made ready quickly, and accommodations found for these two plus two more who are disposing of the carriage. They’re not fussy about where they sleep.”

“My father’s a king,” Eola said sweetly, purely to enjoy the look on the poor man’s face, hampered only slightly by his Ghislain coquin mask. “And I like meat and lots of it. Rare, with the blood still there.”

“Madame la Princesse will have the best in the house,” the maitre gasped, and Eola was amazed to find out many Orlesian steak dishes were served in exactly that fashion. Perhaps there were some things about Val Royeaux she could get to enjoy after all.

Cicero and Sera were back from dropping the carriage off in a well-lit part of Val Royeaux, giving the still woozy driver a large pay off for his trouble, and the house was closed up for the night, Vivienne having given instructions that there were no guests expected that night and no one was to be admitted under any circumstances. For now at least they had peace.

Until a knock on the door put them all on alert, and Cicero grabbed his crossbow, creeping downstairs to investigate.

The maitre was doing his best to look imperious as he addressed a masked man in similar gear to the assassins who’d ambushed them previously.

“Monsieur, there is no one at home tonight. The Duke is at his country estate, and the rest of the family is out of town-”

“Monsieur, you know as well as I that is not the case, and that Madame De Fer arrived in this city this very afternoon. Might I speak with her-”

The visitor stopped speaking and threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the crossbow bolt.

“Run,” Cicero growled at the maitre, reaching for his knives and breaking cover. The hapless man promptly fled… but the visitor didn’t seem afraid, raising his hand as he got to his feet.

“Ah, you would be the Inquisitor’s personal Harlequin! Forgive me, Monsieur Cicero. I meant no harm. Please, as one professional to another, may we talk? This regrettable business was not targeted at any of you personally – indeed, the terms of the contract are so unusual, we felt we had an obligation to explain.”

“Cicero is supposed to believe this??” Cicero snapped, advancing on the man with daggers raised. “Cicero’s former employers had unusual contracts come up all the time, we did not stop to warn our quarry and let them get away!”

“Indeed,” the assassin, for what else could he be, said, brushing the dust off his silken shirt sleeves. “But it may interest you to know that you are only our targets by circumstance, not by designation, and we have no wish to make an enemy of the Inquisition or start a war with the Nightingale. So. May we negotiate?”

Heels clicking on the stairs and a magelight firing overhead, and Enchanter Vivienne was approaching, with Eola on the landing above.

“It’s an unusual request but it’s worth hearing,” Vivienne purred, her Ghislain mask shadowing her eyes. “If it truly isn’t a personal contract but one triggered by circumstance, we might be able to mitigate the damage to ourselves at least. Do come upstairs, monsieur. I have a parlour where we might talk.”

Cicero growled and sheathed his knives, knowing when he was overruled.

“The assassin should know that if there is treachery, Cicero will ensure he does not leave,” Cicero growled.

“I would have it no other way, Monsieur,” the assassin said, bowing before falling in behind Vivienne. Cicero shook his head, wondering what the world was coming to. Assassins with honour? Orlais was truly never quite what it seemed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Borkul was still wondering why they were even here talking to this man as opposed to hacking his head off, interrogating it via necromancy and then sending it back to his guild as a warning.

“Don’t tell me you’d have a problem with that,” he muttered to Eola.

“Of course not, but this is Vivienne’s house, and I can’t just hijack her kitchen,” Eola whispered back. “I suppose if he’s willing to talk, we can hear him out first? We can always send a message later, right?”

“I thought this was that Duke Ghislain guy’s house?” Borkul said, confused. Eola rolled her eyes.

“It is, but here’s Vivienne wearing the Ghislain mask all of a sudden, which means she’s considered part of that family somehow,” Eola sighed. “She’s too Orlesian to openly wear a mask she’s not entitled to wear. Means she’s a Ghislain of sorts, and unless there’s a blood tie, either because she was one before joining the Circle or is someone’s illegitimate child, probably means she’s fucking one of them. My money’s on the Duke.”

“How the hell do you work all this out?” Borkul had to ask, wondering where Eola was getting all this from. Normally she gave the impression of being somehow above all this and being more focused on magic than anything else.

“Cicero’s been studying the Game extensively,” Eola purred, eyeing her husband up. “He’s finding it very exciting. I’m learning all sorts.”

Borkul just bet she was. He began to wish he’d asked Cicero about this sort of thing beforehand. He’d definitely need to have a few conversations with him before Halamshiral happened. But as it was, they had no time now. He’d have to rely on the others knowing what they were doing.

Vivienne had relaxed onto a chaise longue, and Cicero was perched delicately on one of the others, Eola at his side. Borkul grabbed a chair and positioned himself between the remaining chaise longue and the door, eyes not leaving the assassin as he seated himself. Servants came and went, leaving a tea service and cakes on the table without a word, and Sera was likely concealed in here somewhere. A liability at any negotiation… but brilliant at sniping someone who’d outlived their usefulness.

“So, you wished to discuss a contract that is on us… and yet not on us,” Vivienne said smoothly. “A contract triggered by our actions but that might be mitigated. May I surmise that it has something to do with Josephine Montilyet wishing to re-establish her family’s trading status in Orlais?”

“You presume correctly, Madame,” the assassin said, reaching for his pocket and producing a piece of paper, which he handed to her. “Here. A copy of a contract in our files. A contract for a life.”

Vivienne scanned the contents, Cicero hopping over and reading over her shoulder, shaking his head as he did so.

“A contract in writing?” he sighed. “By Sithis, really? We had accounts, to be sure, ledgers saying who did what… but the clients did not sign anything. They did not need to! We always held up our end, and they would hold up theirs! They knew what would happen if they did not.”

“And your guild always kept its word?” Vivienne asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course!” Cicero said, wide-eyed. “We had a reputation to uphold! The Sacrament made the asker a child of the Night Mother same as us. We kept the Tenets while the contract endured. No one will hire us if we are as likely to stab them as their foe, and we will not stab someone acting in good faith who is going to pay us.”

“That’s charmingly sweet for a guild of professional cutthroats, my dear,” Vivienne said, amused. She returned her attention to the parchment. “Now what do we have… ah. A contract to end the life or lives of anyone attempting to overturn the trading ban on House Montilyet, as paid for and requested by… House Du Paraquette??”

“Is that a problem?” Eola asked, frowning. “They exist, right?”

“They used to,” Vivienne said, pursing her lips. “But they died out as a noble line decades ago. So how in the world… ah.” She tapped the bottom of the parchment. “Signed in 8:32. While they were still a family in good standing. No doubt they paid up front or set up some sort of annuity until such time as the contract was invoked.”

“Correct,” the assassin confirmed. “You see why we felt an explanation was owed.”

“But this contract’s over a hundred years old!” Borkul cried, feeling his head hurt. “They’re gone, no one’s gonna care if you don’t honour it!”

A chill in the air as the assassin turned his attention on to Borkul.

“Sieur La Bete,” the assassin said, mask not entirely hiding the stony-faced look on his face. “We will know. And we do care, I assure you. We are bound by our word to honour our client’s wishes. They have paid their coin. We cannot simply set aside contracts due to time and circumstance.”

Borkul growled, wondering again why murdering this guy and putting his head on a pike wasn’t an option. Fortunately, his companions were rather more used to this sort of thing.

“So what would get you to set it aside then?” Eola asked. “Apart from your entire guild being hunted down and destroyed and your souls ripped from your bodies and offered as sacrifices to the demonic rulers of the Fade. Which is not an impossibility.”

That did give the assassin pause, and while Vivienne rolled her eyes, Cicero didn’t bother hiding the excitement in his.

“That will not be necessary,” the assassin said carefully. “We are prepared to believe you are merely acting as agents in this matter, delivering sealed documents that you have not read. And as you have yet to deliver the documents… sieurs and dames, if you were to return to Skyhold with no document delivered, you would not be considered to have triggered the contract. Your lives would be spared. As for Lady Montilyet – as she had no knowledge of the contract, we might be persuaded to stay our weapons if she desists from any further action. The contract binds us to prevent the Montilyets re-establishing themselves by any means necessary, by order of the Du Paraquettes. If she backs down, we would have no further need to act.”

“She’s not gonna back down, her family need the coin!” Borkul cried. “Are you seriously saying that if she continues with this, you’re gonna assassinate her?”

“Alas, we would have no other option,” the assassin sighed. “I regret this as much as you but it is a matter of honour.”

“Honour??” Borkul roared. “I’ll show you honour- ah!” 

Vivienne had cast a frost spell to stop Borkul in his tracks.

“All right, I think the talks are concluded. Monsieur, we will take word of this back to Skyhold and inform Lady Montilyet. We can’t say how she’ll react, but we at least will keep our word.”

The assassin bowed and left, Cicero seeing him to the door… and then scampering back with some hairs in his hand.

“It is not as good as blood but he would have noticed if I’d tried to get a sample off him,” Cicero purred, passing it to Eola. “Can you track him with it?”

“I think I can manage something,” Eola promised, taking the hairs. “Thank you, sweetie. You’re amazing.”

“You can track someone from their hair??” Vivienne asked, surprised. Eola nodded.

“Yeah – sort of. I mean, you can get someone’s essence from it, but the quality of the sample will vary what with hair being essentially dead. But I’ll give it a go. It’s better than nothing.”

The frost spell wore off and Borkul got to his feet, radiating fury.

“I oughtta rip your head off!” he shouted at Vivienne. “What the fuck was that for??”

To her credit, Vivienne got her feet, staff in hand and not looking remotely frightened.

“This is my house, and while he was a guest under my roof, you will not harm him,” Vivienne snapped. “We found out why the attempts on our lives were happening and have bought our safety tonight at least. If we return from here without having filed anything, we won’t have any more trouble, and Josephine can do as she wishes with the information.”

“She’s not gonna back down, she’ll try again and get herself killed!” Borkul roared, and an uncomfortable silence reigned in the aftermath as they all realised this could well happen.

“So we stop them,” Eola said, patting the pouch with her samples. “Not the first time we dealt with a rogue assassins’ guild.” She glanced at Cicero, who was already preening.

“We will stop them, brother,” Cicero said, patting Borkul’s shoulder. “Eola will track the assassin to his lair and then we will wipe them out. All will be well.”

Borkul did grin at that, patting Cicero on the back. 

“Yeah. And we’ll file that paperwork in the morning, yeah?”

“Of course, my dear, if you want innocent blood of the clerks handling it on your hands,” Vivienne said, smoothing her outfit as she sat down again. “Maybe neither of you care about that, but perhaps you will care that the House of Repose will assassinate anyone handling that paperwork and then destroy it. And then they’ll come after Skyhold, and not only will Josephine’s life be on the line, so will the lives of those who delivered the documents. Given the way the Inquisition’s membership has bloomed lately, they likely have agents in place already.”

Which gave the others pause at least, and then Sera broke cover.

“All right, we’re out of here. We file those things, innocent people will get killed! I’m not having that. I mean, I’ll help you off assassins but I’m not getting people hurt!”

Cicero sighed and nodded once.

“If they have people in Skyhold, it will become Inquisitor’s problem,” Cicero sighed. “Cicero does not wish to cause trouble for her or incur his father-in-law’s wrath. What if Maia witnesses something? Her dog will likely protect her from physical harm but she has seen enough violence! She needs to feel safe in Skyhold!”

Cicero looked genuinely distressed at the thought of Maia being in danger, and Eola got up and went to him, herself feeling at least some concern for her baby sister.

“OK, we’ll go back to Skyhold and tell Josie everything,” Eola sighed. “And we’ll tell Da and Elisif, and Leliana. One of them’ll have some ideas, right?”

This did seem to calm Borkul at least, and while he wasn’t pleased, he wasn’t giving up either. There must be something he could do. But damned if he could think of anything other than physically getting in between Josie and any assassin who might come her way.

Well. If that was what it took, he’d have to do it. Secretly, he was rather looking forward to it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so it was that they returned to Skyhold and a council was convened, consisting of the five of them, Elisif and Madanach, Leliana… and a distraught Inquisition ambassador.

“I had no idea,” Josephine whispered as she read the contract. “The Du Paraquettes have been extinct for years in the noble line! I know they were our rivals but to go this far… I did not know the bitterness ran that deep. Borkul, I am so sorry, if I had known, I would never have put you in the path of such danger!”

Borkul took her hand, squeezing it and forgetting that she was a noblewoman and he was just an Orc bodyguard.

“Hey, less of that. I’m a warrior, it’s my job to be in danger. I honestly don’t mind getting in fights. Better me than some courier who doesn’t know one end of a blade from the other.”

“I have to agree, my dear,” Vivienne purred. “If you’d sent anyone else, they’d likely have been slaughtered on the road. As it is, our combined might and reputations was enough to encourage them to sue for peace. They don’t want to fight us. We could use that to our advantage.”

“Our advantage might just be letting this one go,” Madanach muttered, at least until Elisif nudged him in the arm.

“Hush,” Elisif said firmly. “So, this contract’s actually legally binding? I mean, assassination’s really legal in Orlais?”

“Not exactly, it has just never been banned,” Josephine admitted. “It’s too useful a tool, and historically Emperors and Empresses have been too pleased to have their nobles fighting each other to bother banning it. That, and any who did so would by this point become the guilds’ next target. And as the guilds are largely formally registered, they abide by the same laws of contract a guild merchant would.”

Cicero had closed his eyes and was shaking his head, and while he did envy assassins being able to operate legally, he definitely didn’t quite approve of the idea of a guild answering to traditional contract law.

“So we infiltrate their headquarters, destroy the original contract, and they have no reason to pursue it,” Leliana said, seated on Josephine’s other side and patting her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Josie, this is child’s play. Inquisitor, with your permission?”

Elisif was all for granting it and getting this whole thing over with, because the Inquisition had other priorities and she trusted Leliana to manage this without fuss and she did want Josephine to be happy and able to trade in Orlais again without getting murdered for it… but Josephine was having none of it.

“No, Inquisitor, this is my burden to bear, and I will not have blood shed on my family’s behalf – not when there is an alternative.”

Despite Borkul’s aggrieved sigh and Leliana tutting, Elisif motioned for Josephine to continue.

“The Du Paraquettes are extinct in the noble line, it is true… but the commoner branch has survived. There was a son who turned down an arranged marriage in favour of the commoner he loved and got disowned for his trouble, but his descendants live on and they still have the name. If we were to elevate them to nobility, they would have sufficient standing to revoke the contract. We could resolve this without bloodshed.”

“Would that honestly work?” Borkul wanted to know, and Vivienne had to step in to mention that this would take time to resolve even with Inquisition assistance during which time the House of Repose might be hunting her, and Leliana was wearily wanting to know why Josie had to always do things the hard way even when her life was at stake, while Eola was saying she’d pretty much got a trace on the guy by now, she was sure she could find them and Cicero was more than happy to help with the stabbing, wasn’t he Sera, and Sera was sure, let’s kill a bunch of murdering knobheads and…

Elisif was getting a headache just listening to all this and heartily wished this had never crossed her desk… but Madanach had placed a hand on her wrist and whispered could they talk?

“ALL RIGHT!” Elisif cried, not bothering to keep the Thu’um from her voice. “Listen, Madanach and I are going to have a discussion and then I will come back and make a decision. DON’T organise anything until I come back.”

Quiet and murmured assent and Elisif gratefully let Madanach lead her away to the Inquisition cellar and blessed, blessed quiet.

“Why do I get dragged into these things,” Elisif whispered, head resting on her husband’s shoulder. Madanach kissed her forehead and cuddled her, leaning back against the wall.

“Don’t worry,” Madanach murmured, dropping into Tamrielic. “We might be able to turn this to our advantage yet. What do you know about Antiva?”

“Warm, sunny, rich, had a Blight happen there once, it’s a kingdom but there’s a lot of influential merchants there and also it’s got the assassins known as the Crows, why?” Elisif whispered.

“I have my desk in the same office as Josie for a reason, and it’s not just so Borkul has an excuse to drop by and talk to her as well as me,” Madanach grinned. “It’s to keep tabs on things that come up, and I’ve been getting to know Josie. I was asking about her home and learnt all sorts. It is a kingdom… but the real power is not the king but the, oh what’s the word. An Orlesian one coming from their word for talking – parliament, that’s it. It’s the meeting house for the representatives of all the major trading families, and it was originally formed to discuss trade… but the Crows send people to keep tabs on proceedings and now the king wouldn’t dare make a move without their say so. If you want influence in Antiva forget cosying up to King Fulgeno. You need their parliament, and for that you need at least one merchant family in your corner. Specifically if House Montilyet owe us not just a favour but their very prosperity...”

“You think if we help Josephine, she’ll be an ally to the Empire in future,” Elisif gasped, seeing the possibilities and recalling the horrifically detailed trading contract Josephine had negotiated for the Inquisition with the Antivan merchant princes. It had given both her and Madanach a migraine, and while the East Empire’s negotiators were experienced professionals, they were used to strongarming people who just weren’t in the same league. Going up against Antivan merchants would be something else. It wasn’t her problem, not yet, but the last thing she wanted was to inherit an Empire and end up getting ensnared by paperwork to Antiva. Having Josephine willing to help would be a massive asset.

“Better than that – I was thinking having the East Empire give her family exclusive trading rights with us,” Madanach purred. “We get to sit down and talk terms with a friend, and then she can deal with the Antivan parliament. Who, once they realise just how much money and power House Montilyet now wield, will be rushing to curry favour. Josephine’s not just in a position to rebuild, she’ll be able to wipe out her debts overnight. We couldn’t wish for a better friend. So… I think we should do things her way. Even though it’s not the quick and easy way. I think Borkul might be able to help. He’d do anything to make her happy, and I think she’s fond of him. She’ll be even fonder if he can help make this happen.”

It… could work. And Mara knew it’d be nice to see Borkul happy. He seemed it most days… but she’d seen the way he acted around Josephine. She’d not seen that side of him before. It’d be good for him.

“It is traditional to seal alliances with marriage, isn’t it?” Elisif said thoughtfully, trying not to squeal at the idea of a big fancy Antivan wedding with Maia as a flower girl. “Do you think the heir to House Montilyet marrying the brother-in-law of Queen Kaie of the Reach would help seal the deal?”

“Kaie’s the ruler of a small, wealthy kingdom and a brilliant financier, she’d be thrilled to have an opening somewhere like Antiva, although I’m not so sure Antiva’s ready for the hordes of Reachmen invading their beaches every summer. In fact – ah hell, their summer’s our winter, isn’t it. We are going to have to organise a rota or between the Gold Coast in summer and Antiva in winter, there’ll be no one left in the country.”

Elisif giggled, but honestly, she was sure Kaie could manage the ReachGuard’s annual leave schedule even with this complication. And so they went back to announce that Josephine’s idea of elevating the Du Paraquettes to nobility was not a bad one if Josie used her own resources where possible and if she was sure the Du Paraquettes would agree.

Josephine promised she could make this work, and despite Leliana’s despairing sigh, and Eola’s disappointed scowl, Elisif gave her permission and off Josephine ran to start writing letters, mostly to the Du Paraquettes to ask if they wanted their old title back and to start negotiating on price, but also to line up all the other favours she was going to need to get this sorted out. 

“Cicero supposes he had better keep an eye on the pretty ambassador,” Cicero sighed wearily. “It would not do for the House of Repose to decide this counts as an attempt to overturn the ban and launch an attack, would it now. Cicero will talk to Bull, he must have encountered them before, he will know what to look for.”

“I’ll ask Cullen for more guards and have my own people on watch,” Leliana added, still shaking her head at Josephine. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Josie.”

“This will work. I’m sure of it,” Josephine insisted, taking a seat at her desk… and glancing up in surprise to see Borkul still there. “Oh! Serah Borkul, you do not need to be here for this bit. It is mostly letter-writing initially, and it is probably better if these go with the regular Inquisition mail.”

“Maybe,” Borkul said, grimacing. “But I wasn’t able to sort out your paperwork for you. So… you need me for anything in this, I’m here.”

Josephine paused mid-quill stroke, looking up and looking at him, really looking at him, soft brown eyes meeting Borkul’s… and Josephine blushed.

“You have already done so much, I cannot ask you to do more, still less risk your life,” Josephine gasped, sounding a little breathless. Borkul rather knew how she felt.

“I don’t mind,” he said gruffly. “I risk my life all the time. Don’t mind helping you out in the process. You need me, just ask.”

“I – if I need you, I will,” Josephine whispered, and the two gazed at each other, Borkul quite forgetting anything else other than that Josephine Montilyet was stunningly lovely and he could stare at her for hours. He wasn’t to know Josephine was feeling grateful and relieved and happy he was still her friend after her errand had nearly got him killed, and getting palpitations at the mere thought of anything happening to him.

Just as she had no idea that if anything happened to her, Borkul’s berserker rage would be a thing to behold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I'll be going into details regarding the intermediate parts of this quest as it's mostly poking the war table, but there'll definitely be references to it again. Next few chapters are picking up Dorian's personal quest, except I fleshed it out. Also I will tell you now, both Elisif and Madanach are going with Dorian to Redcliffe. Do we think Madanach will react well to someone trying blood magic conversion therapy on his gay son? :D No. No we do not.


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Inquisition member's been sorted out but it turns out another one has problems he doesn't know about yet. When Elisif and Alistair go to help, they find out the problems Dorian does know about are rather more pressing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're into Dorian's quest! This isn't the main scene in Redcliffe, this is the run-up to it. Warnings for off-page BDSM (not involving Dorian), quite a bit of swearing, gay son of a family of traditionalist homophobes, etc. Also Dorian hitting rock bottom and making some bad decisions.

With that settled, Elisif went to find her child, who turned out to be in the garden being watched over by Alistair. Maia was busy watering the elfroot and black lotus currently growing in the herb garden, her mabari snoozing on the grass behind her and Alistair sitting on the nearby wall. He got to his feet as soon as he saw Elisif approach.

“Hello Thuri,” he whispered in her ear, taking her hands. “How was it?”

“You don’t need to call me that, you know,” Elisif whispered back. Five days after they’d got back and she’d barely seen Alistair since, although Madanach had spent a couple of nights with him. And then Madanach had practically dragged Alistair into their room, cheerfully announced he had something to tell her and left. Locking the bedroom door behind him.

Faced with that, Alistair had finally broken down and admitted he was sorry, he’d been out of line with regards to Loghain, it had been preying on his mind ever since, he felt horrible, like he was going insane or something and could she please just punish him and get it over with, he couldn’t bear it any more. He’d been on his knees, head in her lap, practically sobbing by the end.

In retrospect, she should perhaps have seen this coming. Still, she’d not expected it at all. And once she would have been confused and afraid and wouldn't have known what to do. She’d learnt since, thanks to Madanach the former Molag Bal cultist. 

So she’d whispered all right, she’d do it, go to the chest in the corner and pick something suitable out, also did he have a safeword preference.

He’d gasped audibly, suddenly looking very nervous and unsure of himself, but he’d done as asked and picked mabari as his safeword… and then he’d let her beat him. She’d not been gentle but she’d not dragged it out either. It had left him sore and sobbing, but afterwards she’d lain next to him and whispered was he all right, and he’d kissed her and thanked her. 

“Never found anyone to do that before,” Alistair admitted. “Never met anyone I trusted enough, but I needed it. I needed to know someone else was in charge, that if I lost my temper and got out of line, someone would stop me.”

Elisif rather knew how that felt. She’d once worried that she was getting out of control or potentially a dictatorial monster. She no longer felt that way, but perhaps Alistair had never had the chance to find his limits out. He’d been all on his own, no one to really talk to, at the mercy of guilt and regret and shame over leaving the Wardens, and his Chantry upbringing having left him with no real means of dealing with any of it. 

Until now. Small wonder he’d been doting on her ever since, fussing over her, telling her she was beautiful and wanting to know if she needed anything.

He didn’t need to do any of it, but she was glad he was.

“I like calling you that,” Alistair whispered, nuzzling her ear. “It suits you.”

Elisif leaned up to kiss him… until her daughter intervened.

“MAMA!”

She was beaming up at her, having finished tending to the plants now and clearly wanting some maternal attention. So Elisif let Alistair go and went to see what she’d been up to.

“I was teaching Alistair the Thu’um again!” Maia told her, looking very pleased with herself. “He can shout weapons out of people’s hands now!”

“It’s true,” Alistair confirmed. “Maia had her friends line up with their staff or toy weapons so I could practice. They were a bit nervous but they did it… and I said thank you and gave them some cash each for helping, and they were OK after that. So… I can shout weapons out of people’s hands now!”

It was impressive. Elisif was impressed. Right up until Maia announced she was teaching him the Dismay Shout next and getting Dion to help, and the gleeful look in her eyes convinced Elisif that the boy was definitely not getting told what Shout they’d be testing in advance.

“Don’t you dare,” Elisif snapped. “I shall teach him that one, thank you. You can do something harmless like Aura Whisper or Throw Voice.”

Maia was not remotely happy about this, crying out and scowling, and then turning hopefully to Alistair, as if he’d be OK with testing the Thu’um on unsuspecting children.

Thankfully for Elisif, Alistair was just fine with setting boundaries with small children.

“I’m not testing the Thu’um on anyone who doesn’t know what they’ve signed up for, and I’m definitely not using Shouts on kids when they don’t know what they do,” Alistair said firmly, folding his arms and staring down at her. “I mean it, Maia. No.”

Maia cried out and stamped her foot, glaring furiously at them both… but the identical stares of disapproval did eventually force her to give in.

“Yes Mama,” Maia sighed, shoulders sagging as she gave in to the inevitable. Elisif breathed a quiet sigh of relief and allowed herself to relax.

“Thank you,” Elisif said, relieved at that being over with. Thankfully she didn’t have to tell Maia off that often, but sometimes it was necessary. At least Maia seemed to have accepted it this time, because she was now telling Frogella sadly that they weren’t going to be able to frighten Dion after all, and then she was looking up and asking if she could go and see if the mage school was finished for the day yet, apparently cheered up and having moved on. 

“Well. That was… fun?” Alistair said as he watched Maia run off, Silvie in tow. “I mean, I love kids and all but they do… do things sometimes, don’t they. Weird things. Things a moment’s thought tells you you really shouldn’t do, but… they don’t seem to know that.”

“Don’t they ever,” Elisif sighed. “I don’t know how Papa managed on his own. We had a whole household before the corsairs invaded the city, but we lost the house in the fires and had to run away. Papa went back to being a travelling bard after that. I remember it being fun getting to see lots of new places and meet new people, and getting to help by holding the cap out and asking for money. But it must have been such hard work for him.”

“I can imagine,” Alistair said quietly, putting an arm round her. She didn’t talk about her childhood much. It had been happy and uneventful until corsairs had raided the house and set fire to it, and she’d watched both servants and her governess Laurelyn killed, and her father’s bodyguard Voada fighting like some sort of Daedra (it wasn’t until years later she’d realised Voada was definitely a Reachwoman, and might just have been ex-Forsworn in the bargain). Thankfully Papa had returned in his black and red leather armour, dispatched the ones Voada hadn’t dealt with before they’d killed her too, and rescued eight year old Elisif before the fire and smoke got to her. But her childhood after that had been a hard one. Mostly they hadn’t starved… but looking back she had a feeling her father had had some other means of making a living other than the tavern and stage performances she’d been present at. And he’d had a lot of caches of money and supplies scattered around High Rock. Almost as if he’d had contingency plans for going on the run.

It wasn’t something she wanted to think about too hard. It was enough she’d been loved and happy and Papa had taken good care of her until he’d got sick and it was her turn to take care of him. And now it was her turn to look after her own baby.

“Excuse me, Inquisitor, if I might have a moment of your time?”

Mother Giselle had appeared, looking almost sad to be interrupting the cuddle. Elisif coughed and let Alistair go, feeling a little embarrassed even though rationally she had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Yes Mother, how can I help?”

_Stop offering to help, this is your strunmah, she asks the favour, not you._

Elisif quietly told her inner dragon to shut up, and took Alistair’s hand in hers. It cost her nothing to be polite. 

“It is regarding your Tevinter friend. Dorian. I’ve been in contact with his family. They have… concerns.”

Elisif exchanged glances with Alistair, surprised to hear that House Pavus out of Qarinus would even be in contact at all, let alone with Mother Giselle.

“What about?” Elisif asked. “And why are they writing to you?”

“Because they do not trust the Inquisition,” Giselle said, shrugging. “They do not know you, and in Tevinter they have likely heard only the most frightful tales of us. Of course, they do not know me either… but they are Andrastian too and they know what I represent. Apparently there is some sort of rift between them and their son, but despite that, they still care about his safety and wish some sort of reconciliation.”

“He’s not in danger!” Alistair blurted out, and Elisif felt his hand tightening on hers. “And his parents weren’t… he won’t tell me what, but they hurt him somehow. Elisif, you can’t just hand him back to them. What if they’re Venatori?”

That thought had crossed Elisif’s mind.

“He’s a grown man of thirty, he’s not a child,” Elisif said, not entirely certain any of them had a right interfering in this. “If he wants to leave home and join the Inquisition, it’s not their business.”

“I know but he is their son and they worry,” Giselle said gently. “You would not worry if Maia grew up and signed up for some grand cause you knew nothing of other than that it involved fighting and her being around your traditional rivals?”

“I’d be writing to her personally,” Elisif said. “Or I’d send Madanach or Eola to check up on her and find out more. And Alistair’s got a point about the Venatori – how do we know this is really from his family? Or that Magister Pavus isn’t one of them?”

“Then this is only one more reason to put this matter in your hands,” Giselle said, inclining her head. “You are far better equipped to deal with this than I. Here, this is Magister Pavus’s last letter. He has sent a retainer to the tavern in Redcliffe. He asks that we bring Dorian to him so they can talk. Ideally without his knowledge. He seems to think the young man will refuse to go if he knows who is waiting.”

Alistair was squeezing her hand again and Elisif could practically feel his anger. Time to get Giselle out of here before he lost his temper.

“Thank you for telling me, Mother,” Elisif said, inclining her head. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Giselle left, seeming satisfied that Elisif would do her best, and Elisif turned back to Alistair.

“Well, what do you think,” Elisif said softly. “Without swearing.”

“We’re not just taking Dorian to meet this retainer without telling him. We’re just not!” Alistair snapped, practically growling. “We tell him and let him decide if he wants to go. Right?”

“Right,” Elisif said, grinning as she took his hand in hers. “You and him are still friends then?”

“Ye-es,” Alistair admitted, sounding a bit uncertain. “Look, all right, he’s got the worst taste in men ever but he’s had a hard life, you know? His family really didn’t treat him well, I don’t think. He doesn’t talk about them much and he sounds so bitter when he does. It’s not like talking to Madanach who talks about his father whenever you let him and sounds like he’d give anything to see the man again, or Cicero talking about his parents and how much he misses them or seeing the way Maia lights up when she talks about you. Most people talk about their parents with fondness. He doesn’t. He left, and he left for a reason. You can’t force him to go back.”

“And we’re not going to,” Elisif said, leading him off to find Dorian. “Come on, let’s tell him. He can decide if he wants to go or not. And if he does… he could do with someone who can stop magic at his back, right?”

“That could be you if you kept the practice up,” Alistair said, grinning and Elisif made a mental note to do something about that later (even if he was right). Never mind that. Dorian needed their help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

To Elisif’s surprise, and Alistair’s bristling displeasure, Loghain was standing outside Dorian’s room, hammering on the door.

“Dorian, for god’s sake, open the damn door,” Loghain snapped. “You can’t just keep ignoring me and pretend nothing happened!”

The door flew open and Dorian was staring back at Loghain, looking… not at his best. Shadows under his eyes, stubble on his chin, shirt off, reeking of cheap Orlesian wine and in dire need of a bath.

“Loghain, the morning after you said you were in no position to commit to anything,” Dorian snapped at him. “Which is fine, you know? It’s _fine_. We had a good night, orgasms galore and now we go our separate ways. It’s fine!”

Dorian looked anything but fine, and seconds later he’d slammed the door again, retreating back to his room. Leaving Loghain grimacing, wearily resting his head against the wall and sighing. At least until he realised Elisif and Alistair were there, Alistair flexing his fingers and growling.

Elisif stepped in front of Alistair to make sure he didn’t go any further than that.

“Loghain. What’s up?” she asked.

“Oh Maker – Inquisitor, I apologise for you getting caught up in this, this is a personal matter between Dorian and I, and contrary to appearances… look, I don’t know what his problem is. Yes, we had drinks together, we ended up in bed, I told him that I was bound to the Wardens and couldn’t commit to a long-term relationship but we could have something while we were both here. He seemed fine with that. Except now hardly anyone’s seen him, I haven’t seen him, and when I came to look, I find this.”

He indicated the door, and Elisif realised Dorian had bigger problems than his parents right now. And perhaps she had bigger problems than both, because Alistair had hissed, slid out from behind her with a terse ‘excuse me’ and started knocking on Dorian’s door.

“Hey. Dorian. It’s me, Alistair. Do you need me to punch Loghain for you?”

“Maker, no!” 

The door flew open and Dorian was back, wild-eyed, hair a mess and staring horrified at Alistair.

“There’s no need to hit him!” Dorian cried. “Just because… just because I was stupid enough to think… Maker, Alistair, please can you all just let me wallow? You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Bollocks I don’t, look at you,” Alistair said roughly. “Elisif, can you get someone to send up a bath? I can make sure Dorian gets cleaned up and stay with him. Someone has to.”

“He has a lot of alcohol in that room, will you be all right?” Elisif asked, seeing a sea of wine bottles from here. Dorian’s eyes fell on her and he actually flinched. 

“Oh Maker, you weren’t supposed to get dragged into this,” he said quietly. “Elisif, I – I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see me like this.”

Elisif stepped forward and took Dorian into her arms, heart going out to the poor man.

“Hush. We’re friends. Sometimes friends see us at our worst. That’s when having friends is most important. Don’t you think?”

Dorian actually sniffled as he cuddled her back, saying nothing and not resisting as she led him back inside and settled him into a chair. Alistair followed them in, wincing as he began to pick up empty wine bottles and stained bedding, dumping it into the corridor, and to her surprise Loghain gave him a hand, both quietly clearing the room out together and then opening the window, and Loghain requesting a passing servant to send up a bath and take the rubbish away, and that whoever did it could keep the remaining booze.

Elisif had a feeling that would have some people up here within minutes. But in the meantime she had a depressed Tevinter to console. 

“Do you want to talk,” Elisif said softly, still holding his hand. “I can tell Loghain to wait outside if you like.”

Loghain slipped out into the corridor without a word, door closing behind him, and Alistair had come to perch on the bed, watching Dorian sympathetically. Dorian was staring sheepishly up at them both.

“I am so sorry,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to spend all this time looking after me. Really.”

“Perhaps I want to,” Elisif said firmly. “You’re my friend, Dorian. We got lost in time together, and you got us home! If you’re struggling, let me help you. It’s the least I can do.”

Dorian did laugh at that, although he sounded like he was about to cry.

“I keep forgetting you’re actually emotionally healthy and genuinely kind,” Dorian said fondly. “Look, it’s nothing, Elisif, it’s just me being a fool and thinking there was something more than there was, and forgetting that he was married to the Wardens.”

Elisif exchanged glances with Alistair, feeling a little out of her depth on this one. She was so used to being around ex-Wardens and one on secondment, she’d forgotten most Wardens were committed to the order for life. Small wonder Loghain couldn’t give Dorian a commitment. But evidently there was more to it than that. 

Alistair had got up and come to kneel next to Dorian, patting his thigh.

“I guess I can’t hate him too much for actually keeping his vows to them,” Alistair said quietly. “But he’s not worth it, Dorian. And he’s definitely not worth joining the Wardens for, not if you weren’t going to do it anyway.”

Dorian’s face crumpled and he looked like he was about to cry again, and Elisif couldn’t decide if this situation with his parents was good timing or awful timing. Alistair for his part looked stricken with guilt, and then he’d got to his feet, perched himself on the arm of Dorian’s chair and cuddled him.

“Gods, Dorian, I’m sorry, mate,” Alistair was saying, ruffling Dorian’s hair. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise… look, maybe it won’t last forever, but you could go out with him for a bit anyway? If you really wanted to? We might all die in battle anyway before this is all over, might as well have fun in the meantime. What’s that Tevinter phrase, carps are dying?”

“Carpe diem,” Dorian said, voice muffled. “And it has nothing to do with deceased fish either.”

A knock on the door, and it turned out the bath had arrived.

“Er… can I let you do this bit?” Elisif said, biting her lip nervously. “I don’t know if Madanach would be OK with me seeing Dorian naked.”

“But you think he’ll be just fine with me doing it,” Alistair said, grinning slightly. “Go on then, he knows he’s the only man for me. I’ll be sure to tell him later he’s much better-looking and better endowed.”

“Lies!” Dorian protested, head still resting on Alistair’s chest. “No one’s better-looking than me.”

Clearly Dorian was feeling a little better if the egotism was back. Definitely there was some of the old spark in his voice, and it was Alistair bringing it out without trying too hard either. Perhaps Elisif really didn’t need to be here for this bit. Perhaps her adorably cute boyfriend who’d definitely hit rock bottom a few times himself in his life might just be able to help better than she could.

So Elisif slipped the letter to Alistair to tell Dorian about and took her leave, door closing behind her and leaving the two men alone.

Loghain was waiting outside in the corridor, watching as Skyhold’s super-efficient servants swept laundry and alcohol away, and then falling into step alongside her.

“So. How is he doing,” Loghain said, voice a little rough but Elisif could tell there was genuine emotion there. “Maker knows he doesn’t seem to want to talk to me. I daresay having Alistair as a shoulder to cry on won’t help with that.”

“Don’t be too sure about that, last I saw, Alistair was suggesting maybe the two of you could have a short-term relationship, enjoy it while it lasted. Maybe he’s not keen on you but he’s not a bad person and he does care about Dorian. Although he will hit you if you ill-treat Dorian, be warned.”

“I can believe that,” Loghain laughed. “Well, perhaps it might work out. Can I ask what you were looking for him for? I don’t suppose you were there to counsel him on his love life.”

“Not exactly,” Elisif admitted, feeling a bit guilty about not having realised Dorian was so unhappy sooner. “Something else – did he tell you much about his family?”

“A little,” Loghain said grimly. “He says he’s the black sheep of the family. That he didn’t want to go along with House Pavus’s idyllic plan for their son and heir and left. I mean, you know him. He sounded like he was fine with it, like it was some trivial matter, barely worth worrying about. Needless to say, I don’t believe that for a second. He’s a lot more emotional than he lets on – saw that when… never mind. I won’t trouble you with the details. But he’s a wounded man and I think his family wielded the blade.”

Which tallied with what Alistair had said, and Elisif’s own growing suspicions.

“They’ve been writing to Mother Giselle. They want Dorian to meet with this retainer they’ve sent,” Elisif blurted out, feeling instinctively Loghain might actually be able to help. She was right.

“It’s a trap,” Loghain said without hesitation. “This is either a Venatori plot or an attempt to get their wayward son back under their control. Eli- Inquisitor, you can’t let them get their hands on him. They’ve done enough damage.”

“I never said I was going to just send him in there,” Elisif said, only bristling a little before remembering Loghain didn’t know her, not like Alistair did. “Alistair’s going to tell him all about it once he’s had a chance to calm down and pull himself together a little, and then we’re going to decide what to do. We… might have a place for you there. If you wanted to be involved.”

“Hah! You’d be better off asking Dorian if he wants me around. I’m not sure he does,” Loghain said bitterly. “But… if you need me there, my sword is yours. Sounds to me like you might need an extra blade. And… if I may be blunt, maybe you shouldn’t be there. If this is a Venatori trap, perhaps you need to not be the one potentially walking into it.”

Which galled Elisif no end, because Dorian was her friend, dammit, and she wanted to be there for him… and what sort of Nord let a friend go into battle alone?

“I will think about it,” was all Elisif was prepared to say on that score. She’d ask Madanach’s opinion, and then she’d make sure she went in with back-up. Maybe Cole could come. He could read minds. He’d tell her if it was a trap, right?

Starting to make plans already, Elisif went to find her husband.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Dorian really needed to hit rock bottom more often, because this was turning into quite a pleasant afternoon. Elisif had left, the servants had cleared his room, changed his bedding, left a bath waiting for him and Alistair had proceeded to take charge of things once they’d filed out.

He’d looked away while Dorian stripped off and got into the bath, but once in, Alistair, with no trace of embarrassment whatsoever, had rolled his sleeves up and come to sit next to him, offering to scrub his back.

“You’re not bothered by male nudity?” Dorian had to ask, leaning forward so Alistair could reach.

“Oh hardly, what with living with the Andrastian Brothers, the Templars and the Wardens, I’m used to it,” Alistair said cheerfully. “Not a lot of privacy in a monastery what with the priests constantly checking you weren’t up to anything. Or in a barracks. Or trekking through the Deep Roads. I keep forgetting other people are actually used to privacy and people not seeing them naked. Might have accidentally exposed myself to Elisif and Madanach on my first day out of the dungeons. Never mind. It worked out all right.”

Dorian had heard that from Leliana already but it made him laugh out loud to hear Alistair’s version. It had indeed worked out rather well for him.

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy,” Dorian said, only starting a bit as Alistair scrubbed at his skin. “One of us should be. I’m glad it’s you, you deserve it.”

“So do you,” Alistair said gently. “Even if your taste in men is rubbish. Now hush, you’re getting a back rub.”

And Alistair proceeded to massage all the aches and pains out of Dorian’s back, before telling him to lean back and get his head under water so he could wash his hair. Which meant Dorian was then treated to an invigorating scalp massage as well, and then Alistair went and fetched his shaving kit.

“Come on, let’s get you looking like you again.”

And Dorian just relaxed and let Alistair take care of him, staring up at Alistair while Alistair carefully swept the razor over his skin, seeming completely at ease and focused on what he was doing.

_He’s good at this._

_Madanach is a lucky man._

Dorian remembered Loghain’s fingers on his skin, lips trailing down his neck and chest, firm but gentle, and Dorian just knew that Loghain would probably also have been very good at this sort of thing. Probably would have taken him in his arms, murmured to never mind pup, it’d be all right and held him for as long as he needed.

Dorian rubbed his eyes and tried to swallow, feeling his face grow hot, and Alistair finished his work, reaching for towels and helping Dorian get up and dry off.

“Come on, come and lie down, you need to rest,” Alistair said, still sounding so very gentle and kind and far too good for this world in Dorian’s mind. Dorian followed him to the bed and slipped into freshly laundered sheets, sighing happily as fine Orlesian linen met his skin and woollen blankets wrapped round him, and then Alistair was stretching out on top of the covers next to him, arms round him as he pulled him into a cuddle.

“How are you feeling,” Alistair whispered. “Are you OK?”

Dorian was fairly certain he wasn’t, but the hollow empty feeling inside was a lot less insistent from the other side of a hot bath and a massage from an attractive man.

“I’ll live,” Dorian said, wishing Alistair didn’t look quite that pitying. “Thank you. You don’t need to sit here seeing to me, you know. I’m sure you have better things to do than dote on me. Shouldn’t you be doing this sort of thing for Madanach instead?”

“He’s not having a romantic crisis, is he?” Alistair said, smiling faintly. “You needed help, so I helped you. I don’t mind, honestly. I have been where you are now, you know. I’ve been the one depressed, drunk, falling apart… I didn’t really have anyone to pick me up and help me until Uncle Teagan came to find me. I’m not standing by and letting a friend fall apart like I did.”

Far too good for this world. Dorian nestled closer, closing his eyes, deciding to enjoy this while it lasted.

“You’re not going to start preaching the merits of temperance and sobriety at me, are you?” Dorian said sleepily, feeling happily content with the world right now. Alistair rubbed his back and rolled over on to his own, pulling Dorian onto his chest.

“You need to be ready to hear it,” Alistair told him. “I can show you the meditations and the prayer to Mara, but you need to be ready. You need to be ready to stop relying on alcohol and reach out to other people. I can’t make that decision for you, but I promise I will be here for you regardless.”

“Even if I’ve got the bad taste to find Loghain attractive?” Dorian asked, glancing up at Alistair, wondering if Alistair really was OK with that prospect.

“Even then,” Alistair sighed. “Look, you either end up going out with him or you don’t – if you don’t, I’m OK with that. If you do, he either treats you well and you’re happy for however long it lasts, or he treats you like crap. If he’s an utter bastard to you, I get a free pass on kicking the shit out of him, and Elisif will sit back and let me do it. And if you’re happy… well, I can live with it, I suppose. Just don’t expect me to like the man.”

“I would never expect you to like him,” Dorian promised, amused by this… and trying to repress the sudden wave of joy and happiness welling up inside – honestly, all this emotion, what was wrong with him these days?

A few hours earlier, Dorian had been fearing he was going mad. But here, now, being held by a good friend who cared about him, Dorian felt nothing other than peaceful.

“Mara’s one of the Tamrielic goddesses, isn’t she?” Dorian said, thinking over what he’d learned about the Eight so far. Mostly it had been from talking to Maia. The girl had strict instructions not to talk to the Chantry sisters about the Eight, but she’d supposed Dorian was all right. She’d said Mara was the goddess of love and looked after people and made people fall in love and looked after little children.

“Yes,” Alistair confirmed. “Among other things, she’s got a temperance ministry. Apparently the theory behind it is that addictions are things people use in lieu of normal, healthy family connections, and if we’re reminded who is important to us and encouraged to help each other and form connections, we won’t feel the need to drink any more. So that’s what I do. I’ve got evening prayer mantras where I list who’s important to me, and I make sure to spend time with people I care about because even if I feel they don’t really want me around, they still might need something, and you know what, nine times out of ten, they’re pleased to see me and I turn out to be wrong.”

“A sensation I am utterly unfamiliar with,” Dorian said sleepily, and Alistair just laughed.

“Prick,” Alistair said cheerfully, and Dorian closed his eyes, smiling. He’d forgotten what friendship was like. He’d been writing to Felix of course but it wasn’t the same as having people here in person who cared about him. He’d thought he’d lost Alistair’s friendship. It turned out Alistair was harder to get rid of than he’d thought.

A knock on the door, which turned out to be Madanach, bringing a tray containing tea and soup and a concoction which turned out to be a hangover cure as brewed by Cicero and while it tasted vile, it did work. Cicero knew his antivenins.

Madanach didn’t even seem surprised to find Alistair and Dorian cuddling.

“Hello there, bionai,” Madanach purred, placing the tray by the bed and lying alongside Dorian, spooning into him from behind, and Dorian felt the sleepiness vanish immediately, becoming hyper-aware of Madanach’s arm round his waist and chest pressed against his back. 

Oh good heavens.

“Madanach… er… good to see you,” Dorian laughed nervously. Madanach chuckled and kissed the side of Dorian’s head before sitting up a little and reaching up to cup Alistair’s face with his hand, their lips meeting in a kiss that, while brief, seemed to leave Alistair a little breathless.

It didn’t leave Dorian unaffected either. Maker’s Breath, could these two get a room? Somewhere else? 

Thankfully Alistair seemed to agree because he’d backed away, face scarlet and looking very nervous.

“We’re not having a threesome with Dorian,” Alistair said firmly, and to Dorian’s utter relief, Madanach smiled and nodded.

“We’re not having a threesome with Dorian,” Madanach repeated, and Dorian could have cried as Madanach rolled onto his back and retrieved the tea, passing it over for Dorian to drink.

“Here. Tea. With honey. Guaranteed to not disappoint. Unlike men who are an unending source of disappointment. Present company excepted of course.”

Dorian sipped the tea, wincing a little as hot liquid touched his lips. Maybe he’d let this cool first, but it was nice tea.

“Thank you,” Dorian said quietly. “I really am truly sorry for taking you away from whatever you were both doing. You really don’t need to give up your afternoons for me.”

“Quite all right, I needed a break from paperwork anyway,” Madanach said cheerfully. “Elisif took it all off me and when I left her, she was going over it and delegating half of it to the advisors, muttering something about how dare I go on about her time not being wasted when I’m spending so much time on trivia myself. I swear that woman thinks I’m some sort of control freak.”

Dorian just about stopped himself laughing, and Alistair rolled his eyes.

“I’m not telling her she’s wrong,” Alistair said firmly. “But never mind you obsessing over details. Dorian’s love life. Any advice?”

“You’re asking me?” Madanach asked, surprised. “Alistair, I have one doomed love affair, some youthful misadventures, a disaster of a first marriage, twenty years in the other loveless prison that blighted my life, and frankly I’m still not sure what Elisif sees in me. I’m not an authority on relationships.”

“Madanach, compare to me, you’re an accomplished professional,” Dorian sighed, staring into his tea. “Look at me. I’m a walking disaster area. I’ve spent my entire life running away from responsibility, living for pleasure and self-gratification, accomplishing absolutely nothing, and when I finally find myself somewhere I might actually achieve something, I manage to fall for someone completely unsuitable and end up ruining things all over again until you three have to come and pick me up. Really, you don’t have to do this.”

Dorian barely noticed Madanach and Alistair exchanging looks, but he did hear Madanach sighing and feel Alistair shifting closer. 

“Dorian, mate. We’re your friends,” Alistair said, putting an arm round Dorian’s shoulders. “That’s what friends are for. You’d help me if I needed it, right? You’d help Madanach if he had problems. You’d help lots of people! Let other people help you for a change.”

Like it was that easy. But Dorian clearly wasn’t going to get rid of them any other way.

“What do I do, you two?” Dorian sighed. “I like Loghain. I really do. And… I miss him. But he’s going to leave me, isn’t he. I never fall for anyone who’s actually good for me. I’m… maybe I’m just destined to ruin my life. Maybe I really am broken.”

“You’re not broken,” Madanach said, without sounding as if he’d given that any thought whatsoever before saying it… but Alistair had gone very quiet.

“Who told you you were broken,” Alistair said quietly, and there was something in his voice, something dangerous. Almost as if he knew Dorian’s past better than he did.

“Everyone says it,” Dorian said bitterly. “Look, there goes Dorian, the feckless waste of space, the family disappointment, avoiding his responsibilities and wasting his life in taverns and bath houses. No need to get angry on my behalf, Alistair, I know what I am.”

“The fuck you do, Dorian, there is _nothing_ wrong with you!” Alistair snapped. “Of course you weren’t happy, from the sound of it, everyone in Tevinter wanted you to be someone you weren’t! Look, I know Tevinter, Dorian. I have been there. I’ve been the only non-drinker at a fancy Tevinter party, and I know the culture. I know how fucking hard it is to be different in that country, especially when you’re the only son of a wealthy noble, expected to continue the line, but you don’t fancy women and can’t face marrying one!”

The room had gone very quiet, and Dorian realised his hands were shaking and he couldn’t hear properly over the rushing blood in his ears and the room seemed very warm, because they knew, Alistair and Madanach now too, they fucking knew and he hadn’t told either of them, so how did they know and if they knew, who else did, oh god, all of Skyhold might know, he wasn’t safe, he needed to get out, needed to run…

Magic flared, Madanach’s magic flashing into life, pouring into his body, a feeling of power and warmth and strength and a husky male voice whispering in his ear that he was all right, he was going to be all right, and he didn’t need to worry any more.

Slowly Dorian opened his eyes and to his surprise, most of the tea was still in his mug. Madanach was rubbing his back, sympathy and sadness in his eyes. And Alistair looked like he was about to cry.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Dorian,” Alistair said, still sounding like he wanted to hit something. “I don’t care what your parents told you. You’re a good person, and you deserve to be happy, and you’re going to find the man of your dreams one day. Might not be Loghain but there’ll be someone.”

“Also just because something’s temporary doesn’t mean it’s not worthwhile,” Madanach said quietly. “From what Elisif tells me, it sounds like Loghain does actually care about you. You could have something. You could be happy. Even if only for a time.”

“Don’t, Madanach, it’ll only hurt more when he goes,” Dorian said, shivering.

“Whereas you’re full of the joys of sunshine at the moment,” Alistair said, rolling his eyes. “Seriously Dorian, please. I know this is going to sound weird coming from me, but if it might make you happy for now, do it. You don’t have to make your family’s predictions come true.”

Despite Alistair’s adventures in Tevinter previously, Dorian was fairly certain Alistair didn’t know as much about his family as he thought, and he told him this… and was surprised to see Alistair go pink and Madanach look on knowingly.

“You told him yet?” was all Madanach said, and Alistair reached for his pocket, producing a letter.

“Er, Dorian? Your family. They’ve been in touch. They’ve sent representatives to Ferelden and wanted Mother Giselle to deceive you into meeting them. I don’t know why they chose her to contact but apparently a Chantry priest is a Chantry priest wherever you go. I don’t think they reckoned on her growing suspicious, suspecting a Venatori plot and going to Elisif. It’s why we came to find you in the first place.”

Dorian downed his by now lukewarm tea and felt his blood start to boil.

“Bring Dorian to a secret meeting… this is the only way… I know my son?? What he knows about me would barely fit on the inside of a thimble! Right, where is this retainer. We’re going to find him and I’m going to tell him to tell Magister Halward Pavus where he can stick his secret meeting! Come on, let’s go – owww.”

Dorian’s hangover caught up with him, and Madanach’s hands found his upper body and guided him back down to the pillows.

“Drink this. It’s one of Cicero’s hangover cures – don’t make that face, they work. And then you’re going to go to sleep. And when you’re fully rested, you’re going to have a fortifying breakfast and we’re all going to go with you to help you tell this man to go fuck himself. Elisif and Alistair have already decided they’re going with you. I will also go if you want me to, just let me sort the childcare out with Eola, although I suspect that means Cicero and Liriel will end up doing most of it. And I think Loghain would be happy to help if you wanted him there.”

Dorian’s first instinct was to cry no, but another thought crept into his mind, the thought of turning up with an actual boyfriend in tow, and the look on his father’s face when he saw his son with an older lover and the Traitor Teyrn at that.

The idea held appeal.

“Fine,” Dorian said sleepily. “You can tell Loghain I would appreciate it if he was there. That’s not yes to anything else, by the way. Only that I did enjoy his company and he does know a little about my past, so yes, he can come. Also if it does turn out to be a trap, I’d like an extra sword there. You two plus Loghain plus the Thu’um wielding Dragonborn should be more than enough to kill everyone if it does go south.”

“That it will,” Madanach promised, looking altogether gleeful at the idea of getting to fight someone, and Alistair seemed happy too. So Dorian drank his tonic, wondered idly if Cicero made them taste this vile on purpose, and submitted to Madanach pulling the blanket over him and Alistair patting his back, kissing him on the forehead and telling him to sleep well before the two men left him to sleep.

Dorian closed his eyes and wondered idly when he’d last spent time in a bed with two attractive men, not had sex with either of them and yet felt so at peace afterwards. It made no sense at all, and he really shouldn’t get used to it, because it could all end in tears yet. But there was some tiny part of him wondering if this was what having a loving father and brother was like.

_Madanach is not going to adopt you and take you back to Tamriel with him, you know that, right?_

Dorian knew. But all the same, the idea of maybe having a future of sorts, a family of sorts… that was an appealing one. 

It certainly made him feel better about facing the one he’d been landed with by birth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter it's all off to Redcliffe where Dorian confronts his father. We've got Elisif, Alistair, Madanach and Loghain all going in support, and Elisif's bringing Cole along for help too. So we've got a spirit of compassion, three bi men with varying degrees of self-control and violent tendencies, and Elisif who is heterosexual but whose rational mind switches off when babies and children and parent/child relationships are involved. Gonna be fun, amirite?
> 
> Alistair's adventures in Tevinter are covered in the Silent Grove graphic novels. The published version involves King Alistair, but Bioware also say all the surviving canon Alistairs have their own version of events.


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian confronts his father, with heartbreaking revelations and emotional moments abounding. Fortunately, he's got a team of friends around to help support him, and they've all got tricks up their sleeves. Not everyone's pleased with the outcome... but other developments in Dorian's life have a way of helping with that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the second half of Dorian's personal quest! I really enjoyed writing this one. Very cathartic. I didn't actually change that much of the dialogue for the scene in the Gull and Lantern. Didn't need to in the end. I think it worked.

And so the Inquisition rode for Redcliffe, Eola and Cicero having promised to look after Maia, and Elisif enjoying a ride with… well, Madanach and Dorian had both climbed in the back of the cart instead. Dorian at least had the grace to look apologetic, whereas Madanach didn’t even pretend to any form of shame.

At least she had Alistair riding alongside her on the Fereldan Forder, although Elisif had no idea whether it was to keep her company or to avoid Loghain who was also on the cart, sitting across from Dorian and looking rather awkward. And Cole was round here somewhere too. He’d turn up, she was sure. He’d promised he’d come, simply saying ‘yes, Dorian should be with his family’. 

Somehow she didn’t think he’d been talking about Halward Pavus. But he’d said he’d be there, so she wasn’t going to worry. Chances were he was probably hiding on the carriage. Maybe he could give Dorian and Loghain a nudge towards each other. 

A stop to rest at the Hinterlands camp at the crossroads, partly to check on the refugees still there, and partly because neither Elisif nor Madanach were fools and they’d had Leliana scout Redcliffe in advance. No signs of an organised Venatori presence, thankfully, just one paying guest at the Gull and Lantern. A Tevinter man in his middle years, well-dressed and his stay paid for a month in advance with more coin going to ensure no one bothered him. Sadly the scout in question couldn’t give a more precise description than ‘dark hair, dark skin, fancy clothes, Tevinter-y’.

“That could be anyone!” Dorian snapped, exasperated. “Honestly, Tevinter-y isn’t even a word.”

“Dorian, hush, Agent Jim here’s doing his best,” Elisif said, giving the man a tip. “And at least we know it’s just one man. Who, if he’s wearing fine clothes, is probably not a fighting man either.”

 

“No, but he’s probably a mage,” Madanach said grimly. “Probably a blood mage at that – if he starts casting, fall back and let me fight him. I know how to counteract that sort of thing.”

By employing his own rarely-used but definitely there blood magic. She’d seen him use it once when they’d been attacked by vampires early on in the Harkon crisis. The look on the poor vampire’s face when Madanach had gasped, realised the vampire was actually casting a mind control spell on him, sliced his own arm open and promptly used blood magic of his own to make the vampire’s chest explode was something Elisif had difficulty forgetting sometimes. Particularly because part of her was still aroused by it.

No one else seemed to have suspected anything amiss… but Dorian had gone very still and was staring at Madanach, clearly having guessed what that might mean too. That might mean an awkward conversation later.

“If he starts casting, I can shut him down, don’t worry,” Alistair was saying, patting Madanach on the back. “You don’t need to go toe to toe in a magister’s duel or anything.”

Elisif bit back a laugh to see Madanach actually pouting.

“But I’ve not killed anything in aaages!” Madanach practically whined. “I never get to fight anything these days. What if I forget how?”

Elisif remembered the charred and barely recognisable corpse of the former ringleader of the rogue mages, and the bloody mess that had been the former Templar camp, neither location far from their current camp.

“I think you’ll be just fine,” Elisif said firmly. “Now, shall we get the tents seen to?”

The sleeping accommodations had been a source of no little discomfort for Elisif in particular. She’d ended up sharing a tent with Dorian, who was still avoiding Loghain when he could… although she’d seen them make awkward small talk too. But if he wasn’t sleeping with Loghain, that meant Loghain on his own, and Dorian in with her, with Madanach and Alistair in a separate tent. And while she didn’t mind Dorian as a tentmate, it was very difficult knowing her partners were in their own tent probably having sex without her.

She missed them.

“It’s all right,” Cole whispered, appearing alongside her. “They miss you too. And they’re worried about Dorian. They just didn’t trust themselves next to him.”

Cole had got to stop appearing out of nowhere like that. Not to mention telling her far too much about her lovers’ thought processes.

“Cole!” Elisif hissed. “Don’t tell me they both fancy Dorian!”

“Oh no, Alistair doesn’t,” Cole said, which was the opposite of comforting. “He loves Dorian but not romantically. And Madanach does a bit but stops wanting to whenever Dorian starts talking. He told Alistair there was only room for one egomaniacal smart-mouthed wise ass in any relationship. I’m not sure what that means, only that it made Alistair laugh, and that Madanach and Dorian are too similar. They both hide the pain behind sarcasm, but Dorian’s is gilded, gliding, quick and clever, while Madanach’s was brewed in the dark too long, steeped in dark magic and blood, and biting too hard. Dorian doesn’t mind biting but it’s not Madanach he wants, not really. He wants Loghain but he’s scared of getting hurt, of giving his heart away to only have it returned in pieces.”

Elisif remembered Torygg lying dead on the floor in an ocean of blood and her tears, and later Madanach as a fragile old man coughing half to death and barely sure who she was.

“That’s the nature of relationships though,” Elisif whispered. “They all end.”

“His have rarely even got started,” Cole said solemnly, and before Elisif could respond, Madanach was calling to ask her if roast duck was all right for dinner and when she turned back, Cole was gone again.

“Everything all right?” Madanach murmured, coming to stand behind her, arms wrapping around her waist as he planted little kisses on her neck. “Cole’s not bothering you, is he?”

“No, apart from the constant appearing and disappearing, but I don’t suppose I can really expect a spirit to understand human norms. Also I think the poor thing’s scared,” Elisif sighed.

“So he should be,” Madanach muttered. “Don’t think I’m not binding him if he turns into a liability.”

Elisif flinched a little at the thought. Cole didn’t deserve being bound into obedience.

“Only if I order it or he turns into a demon,” Elisif said firmly. Madanach grimaced but nodded.

“I suppose Alistair’s had plenty of practice at fighting demons before now,” Madanach said, shrugging. “Loghain’s not exactly a weakling either. Anyway. Never mind them. I missed my pretty wifey.”

He was snuggling her again, and Elisif couldn’t help but giggle, because after this long married, it was a source of great joy for Madanach to still be a loving and affectionate husband. Even with Alistair to distract him.

“I missed you too,” Elisif whispered, arms round his neck as she nuzzled his face. “Sit with me at dinner tonight?”

“Happy to,” Madanach murmured. “Also Alistair says if you and I want to borrow my tent tonight, that could happen. There’s a few spares at the camp here, or he could ride for Redcliffe early. Teagan would put him up, he reckons.”

Elisif couldn’t quite keep the squeal to herself. She really had missed her husband. Kissing him, she paid no attention to the rest of the world. Tonight she’d have Madanach. Life was good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

On the other side of the camp, Dorian saw Elisif kissing Madanach, heard them negotiate over actually getting a tent together, and something inside him shifted, a lump building in his throat. He still didn’t hold with all this marital affection, of course. Married couples weren’t supposed to be kissing and holding hands all the time. Married couples in Tevinter altus circles weren’t expected to love or even like each other, of course. But there were exceptions. Principally Gereon Alexius who’d proposed to his long-term love Livia as soon as he was in a position to provide for a family. Seeing them together had made Dorian realise love might be something he’d want… and now here were Madanach and Elisif who’d clearly married for love as well as politics and perhaps most importantly, clearly still loved each other.

And if he could look at women that way, maybe he could have that too, but he couldn't, could he? It was men, always men, that caught his eye. And it had been Loghain who’d caught his eye here. Apparently his type was dark and brooding and dangerous. Which was going to break his heart, he just knew it.

But here was a good friend essentially separated from her husband because of his failure to sort his life out.

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian muttered, glancing down at the hip flask at his belt before swigging a gulp of purloined Inquisition whisky. “To hell with it.”

Loghain was sitting by himself, guardedly staring at the rest of the Inquisition and not talking to anyone. But his expression lifted when he saw Dorian approaching.

“Dorian,” Loghain said quietly. “Everything all right?”

“Loghain,” Dorian said, reminding himself to breathe. “Can we talk? Privately?”

Loghain said nothing, staring back at Dorian and to Dorian’s surprise, Loghain’s cheeks went ever so slightly pink. He nodded once and held out his hand, leading Dorian out of the main camp to a crag overlooking the pathway.

“Well, you wanted to talk?” Loghain said gruffly, motioning for him to sit next to him. “I’m listening.”

Dorian didn’t sit. He wasn’t ready yet. And he had things to say and didn’t want to repeat any of this so he took a deep breath. How hard could this be? 

Harder than he thought, it turned out.

“Loghain, I… look, before I say anything else, I just wanted to say how sorry I am for my appalling behaviour back in Skyhold. I was acting like a child throwing a tantrum over not getting what I wanted, and it was not only unbecoming, it wasn’t fair to you. We can be adults about this at least.”

“Dorian, it’s fine, you’re allowed to show your feelings,” Loghain started to say, but Dorian raised a hand to hush him. 

“Loghain, stop. I need to say this, and I need to say it now, because I deplore this sort of thing and I’m not repeating myself. Look, I’ve been thinking… and I know we won’t last forever, but it seems I can either be miserable now without you, or be miserable eventually when you leave but happy in the meantime. And… if you’re still willing, I… would like to spend time with you. While we still can. If you’re all right with that.”

Loghain had raised both eyebrows, clearly not having expected this. Wincing a little as his joints cracked, Loghain got to his feet.

“Just answer me one question, Dorian,” Loghain growled. “Would this change of heart have anything to do with us meeting your father’s retainer tomorrow and you wanting to be able to parade your unsuitable new boyfriend in front of him as a way of telling him where to go?”

Dorian paused because while this wasn’t the only reason, he couldn’t deny it was one of them.

“Er…”

“ _Dorian,_ ” Loghain said firmly. “The truth now.”

Dorian gave up and sighed, admitting the truth.

“All right, yes, it might be related. It’s not the only reason though! I’ve been thinking about it since Alistair and Madanach picked me up and put me back together. And I keep running out of reasons to say no to you. Also if I’m in a tent with Elisif, it means she can’t sleep with her husband and boyfriend and I feel guilty. She deserves better – mmm!”

Loghain had broken out into a smile and stepped forward, placing a hand on his cheek then pulling Dorian closer to kiss him… and Dorian quite forgot what he’d been saying. All he could think about was Loghain.

Finally Loghain let him go, smiling fondly as he stroked his face.

“Better get your things and move them into my tent, pup. Tell Elisif she can have her men with her if she wants. Can’t have the Herald getting lonely, can we?”

And so Loghain and Dorian returned to camp, and while Elisif was surprised to see Dorian make straight for her tent and start moving his things out, both she and Madanach smiled to see Dorian and Loghain joining them at the fire, holding his hands.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Dorian said pointedly. “We’re not the sentimental sort of couple who’ll be all over each other, sighing and staring into each other’s eyes the whole time. We’re just… spending time together and enjoying each other’s company, that’s all.”

Madanach and Elisif exchanged glances, grinning knowingly.

“One day he’ll finally get in touch with his emotions, won’t he,” Elisif said, grinning at Dorian as she cuddled her husband. Madanach just laughed, seeing Dorian’s outraged expression, which got even more embarrassed as Loghain patted Dorian’s back.

“We know what we are to each other, don’t we, pup,” Loghain said affectionately, and Dorian could only stare plaintively at him. Of course, this was the moment Alistair turned up, saw this, worked things out commendably quickly and sat down next to Elisif, shaking his head.

“Oh good, we get the Mac Tir-Pavus lovefest all the way home, do we? Marvellous. Elisif, definitely riding alongside you. I’m not sharing the cart with them. And Loghain? Mistreat him and I’m personally murdering you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Loghain drawled, not looking remotely frightened, despite Alistair glaring at him. Fortunately, Alistair made no further comment and the evening passed without event. Alistair did not need to ride ahead to Redcliffe after all, Dorian finally got to be with Loghain while sober, and Elisif finally got her husband back. It augured well for the following day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Redcliffe seemed quiet but something seemed off as Elisif led the way to the tavern, and when she stepped inside with Dorian at her side, she knew something was wrong.

“No one here,” Dorian said, grimacing. “I knew it. This has trap written all over it.”

“Alistair, be on alert,” Madanach warned as he followed them in. “Loghain, watch the door. We don’t know what...”

Footsteps on the staircase and Elisif stepped forward, motioning for Madanach to be quiet as her hand went to Dawnbreaker.

“Who’s there,” Elisif said clearly. “We’re here to meet with the House Pavus retainer in peace. Weapons down, magic off, come out where we can see you.”

A figure stepped out of the light, a Tevinter male in his middle years, brown skin, finely dressed… and looking very like Dorian, and in that moment Elisif realised this was no retainer.

“Father,” Dorian said stiffly, the merest inhalation of breath revealing his own shock. “So the story about the retainer was, what? Another smokescreen?”

“So you were told,” Magister Halward Pavus said, the briefest flick of his eyebrows betraying his annoyance… and surprise. He glanced over at Elisif, saw the Jagged Crown and the glowing fiery sword at her side and clearly realised who else had come in person rather than send an underling. “Inquisitor. I apologise for the deception. I never intended for you to be involved.”

“No true Nord abandons her friends when they need her,” Elisif said coldly, folding her arms and coming to stand in front of Dorian. “I’m here to help Dorian. And I believe it’s him you need to apologise to for deceiving. I’ve always been honest with him.”

“Oh don’t waste your time expecting an apology on my behalf, Magister Pavus could hardly come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor, could he?” Dorian snapped. “What would people think? Honestly, what is this, father? An ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion??”

“It won’t be a kidnapping,” Madanach spoke up, voice a low growl and illusion magic subtly drawing on shadows to make the warm interior of a country tavern on a warm autumn afternoon turn into something rather more threatening. He’d exchanged his usual fancy robes for his Forsworn battle gear, gold feathers gleaming in the candlelight… and the skulls on his belt gleaming rather more than usual. He’d folded his own arms and come to stand next to Elisif, radiating an aura of menace. “I am a match for you, magister.”

Halward couldn’t stop grimacing at the sight.

“And here they told me southern mages had been neutered by the Chantry… of course, they also tell me you’re not a southern mage. You’re some sort of Chasind tribesman, they tell me.”

Well, at least he’d not heard of Tamriel yet. It was something.

Madanach grinned, glancing at Elisif, who smiled back and decided to let him answer that one.

“I’m definitely something. Just think of me as someone very high-ranking where magic is seen as natural as breathing. Also I have an axe and know how to use it.”

“I know who you are, Deputy Inquisitor Madanach,” Halward growled. “But do you know my son? He is… it has always been this way with him.”

Madanach narrowed his eyes, glancing at Elisif, and Elisif was near-certain it had not always been that way, that tiny five year old Dorian had followed Halward Pavus around with the same adoring devotion Maia gave her.

“What happened with you two?” Elisif said quietly. “Seriously, what is all this about? There’s some argument, Dorian leaves, then comes south to join the Inquisition – but I know he came south because Felix invited him, because Dorian was the only one who could stop Gereon’s time magic. He came because he was needed and stayed because he thought it was the right thing to do, and he’d saved my life by that point so I was happy to give him a place in my court. He didn’t do it to spite you. So what’s this about?”

Halward opened his mouth to speak but Dorian beat him to it, looking positively gleeful.

“Oh, you want to know what this is about? I am happy to tell you! In fact, I want witnesses. Lots of witnesses. The Herald of Andraste, Mr. Herald, Alistair Theirin the Lost Prince of Ferelden, and my dear bosom companion Loghain the former Teyrn of Gwaren.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Loghain drawled, inclining his head and Alistair waved.

“Hello! If I look familiar, that’s because I was at a party in Minrathous once and several people died. I only killed a few of them, and I definitely didn’t start it.”

Elisif had got to ask Alistair more about his Tevinter adventures at some point, but she had other problems. Because Halward was rolling his eyes, sighing and telling his son there was no need to- they’d never know. Dorian was speaking again.

“I prefer men. Sexually. Men and only men. And I know you all know that by this point, and that most of you don’t seem to think there’s anything even unusual about it… but I never said that before. Not out loud. Not to anyone. Not even Felix. But back in Tevinter, it’s a problem.”

Halward was shaking his head, closing his eyes wearily.

“Your father wanted grandchildren,” Elisif said quietly.

“It’s understandable,” Madanach said, shrugging. “I had the number of kids I did for a reason – to maximise my chances.”

“It’s more than grandchildren!” Dorian cried, anger filling his voice and something unspoken buzzing in the air. Something more than failing his father had happened here, clearly. “Everyone in Tevinter is intermarrying, trying to produce the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind… perfect leader.”

“The perfect leader can absolutely sleep with and love other men if he likes,” Madanach growled, glancing at Halward with narrowed eyes. Halward glared back at Madanach and turned to his son, a hand reached out in a desperate plea.

“Dorian, if you’ll just listen...”

“Why, so you can spout more lies??” Dorian shouted. “You taught me to hate blood magic! The resort of the weak mind – those were _his_ words!”

The atmosphere had changed, and Elisif shot glances at Madanach, who’d taken his illusions down, because no one was paying attention to him any more. Dorian had pushed past them both, jabbing at his father.

“And what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life??” Dorian shouted. “You tried to...” He stopped, words seeming to get stuck in his throat as the anger shifted into something else, the heartbreak and pain that had been there all along.

“You tried to _change_ me!”

Silence fell as Dorian stared at his father, tears in his eyes, and it simultaneously dawned on four people that the real rift wasn’t the homosexuality or the refusal to marry. It was Halward Pavus using blood magic to try and make his son find women attractive.

Dorian turned away abruptly, having said his piece and suddenly really feeling the emotions and the betrayal, and he didn’t resist as Loghain left his post by the door and placed a hand on his back, pulling Dorian into a hug. Halward was reaching after Dorian, desperation on his own face.

“I only wanted what was best for you...” Halward started to say, and then stopped as he realised how cold it had just got and then that icicles were forming on both ceiling and floor, advancing towards him in an ominous path of promised pain… and then all the magic in the room shut off, every single mage suddenly gasping as their magicka supply was lost to them and the ice vanished… but one mage had other weapons at his command.

“You son of a _bitch!_ ” Madanach stepped forward and barely hesitated, fist flying and making contact with Halward’s face and sending the unfortunate magister staggering back, and then Madanach had his axe in his right hand and Halward’s robes in his left as he shoved the man into the wall.

“You used blood magic on your _own son??_ ” Madanach roared. “For preferring men?? What the actual FUCK is wrong with you?”

“You don’t understand,” Halward managed to gasp out, and Madanach tightened his grip and shoved him against the wall harder, axe poised to strike.

“I am King of the Reach, _magister!_ ” Madanach shouted. “I’ve had six blood children from three different women, two adopted ones, a disaster of a first marriage to a woman I’m glad is dead, I have delved deep into dark magic, sponsored a lot more, I have both ordered and carried out atrocities that would make a demon flinch! But I would _never,_ fucking NEVER use blood magic on my own. Damn. CHILDREN!”

Madanach had raised his axe, lifting it as if to strike, and Dorian was watching from across the room, shocked and appalled in Loghain’s arms but not actually moving to stop him. 

It was Alistair who moved, crossing the room, one hand round Madanach’s shoulders and the other on his chest, carefully and gently hauling him back.

“Madanach,” Alistair said gently. “Let him go. If Dorian wants revenge, it’s for him to take it. It’s not for us to do it.”

Madanach glanced up at Alistair, amused as he lowered his axe.

“You stop his magic so he can’t fight back then don’t let me follow through?” Madanach asked, and then amusement turned to surprise as Alistair shook his head, grinning.

“Wasn’t me,” Alistair said proudly, inclining his head… and it dawned on Madanach that not all the gleefully furious bloodlust in his head was actually coming from him. He turned to see his wife, staring at her hands… and squealing in delight.

“I did it!” Elisif gasped. “I stopped everyone’s magic, look!” She glanced up, saw a distinct lack of Tevinter blood on Madanach’s axe and pouted. “We… aren’t killing him?”

“No, Thuri, that will get us in a lot of trouble,” Alistair said gently. “But well done. I am very proud of you for mastering stopping magic. But I do think we possibly shouldn’t murder Dorian’s father in front of him.”

Madanach sighed, rolling his eyes and putting his axe away. 

“Ugh, _fine!_ ” Madanach growled. “Elisif, cariad, we are apparently not hiding a body today.”

Elisif actually pouted. She wasn’t the bloodthirsty type, not really… but she’d given birth, carried a baby in her womb and held her child in her arms and cried tears of joy at finally having a precious tiny perfect little baby of her own. She could never hurt Maia. Never.

“Count yourself lucky you’re not under my justice, Halward Pavus,” Elisif said coldly. “Dorian, come on, we’re leaving.”

“Wait. You didn’t let him speak.”

Cole had appeared, sitting on a stool by the bar, there in plain sight now, presumably revealed when Elisif had dispelled the magic in the room.

Everyone turned to look at Cole, shoulders hunched, hat hiding his face… and then he turned and got to his feet, staring unblinkingly at Dorian.

“If you don’t speak to him, you will regret it later,” Cole said softly. “You are still his son. And you might not get another chance. Take this one.”

Elisif turned to Dorian. No one else but him could decide this one.

“It’s up to you, Dorian,” she said quietly. “If you want to, you can – or we can leave now. Either way, I won’t judge you.”

Dorian’s lip curled, glaring at Elisif… but it was Loghain squeezing his arm and quietly nodding in Halward’s direction that sealed it. 

“You’ll stick around, won’t you,” Dorian said quietly. Loghain nodded and Dorian did smile then, lips gently brushing against Loghain’s before he turned on his father.

“Tell me why you came,” Dorian said roughly. “Why are you even here?”

“If I had known I would drive you to the Inquisition… and to him??” Halward indicated Loghain, whose reputation had clearly reached Tevinter (Alistair would later admit some of this might be his fault).

“You didn’t drive me to the Inquisition,” Dorian cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “I joined because it was the right thing to do! Like Elisif said! And like Loghain did. And once I had a father who would have known that!”

Halward closed his eyes and nodded once, acknowledging the accusation and its truth in one, and when he next spoke, it was in a voice sad and plaintive and heavy with the weight of acknowledged guilt seeking for absolution.

“Once I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed. I came here hoping to hear his voice once more… and to ask him to forgive me.”

Silence. Dorian had barely reacted… but something had changed in his face. The hostility had died a little. 

“Dorian, you don’t have to forgive him,” Madanach murmured in Dorian's ear, a hand on his shoulder.

“I didn’t say that,” Dorian said softly. “But thank you. Will you wait outside for me? I think we need to talk alone.”

Madanach nodded and so, after a second, did Elisif, and everyone filed out, and Cole disappeared entirely. And Dorian took a deep breath, took a seat by the bar, reached for a bottle of cheap wine and motioned for his father to sit next to him. This was not going to be an easy conversation… but Dorian knew he couldn’t go without at least listening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Dorian finally emerged from the tavern, the first thing he saw was Loghain pacing the ground outside, and as soon as Loghain saw him, he turned and paced over, taking Dorian’s face in his hands.

“Dorian. Are you all right? Did he use blood magic? Are you still you?”

Dorian placed a hand against Loghain’s and squeezed it, feeling his heart skip a bit at his touch.

“Yes, my friend, I’m fine,” Dorian said, smiling as he closed his eyes.

“Friend?? We’re more than that by this point, Dorian,” Loghain growled, taking his hand away before wrapping an arm around Dorian’s waist and pulling him close. Dorian didn’t speak, because if he did he’d likely end up crying, and he couldn't let Loghain see him like that. But Loghain’s arms were strong and his chest felt solid, and he was here and he cared and he wasn’t judging, and the sex, good as it had been, was nothing compared to being loved and cared for. 

But if he said it out loud he knew he’d probably burst into tears. So he said nothing and held on to Loghain and let himself be led to where Elisif and Madanach were waiting with Alistair, all three of them standing around a little way off near the monument to the Hero of Ferelden. Elisif was first to notice and she slipped off the dais of the griffon statue, running over to Dorian.

“Dorian, are you all right?” Elisif cried. Loghain let him go, and then Elisif had pulled him close, enfolding him in a warm embrace. It felt motherly, and Dorian blinked back tears as he remembered Halward telling him he was sorry, he’d never try blood magic on him again, he could come home if he wanted, he didn’t have to marry anyone if he didn’t want to. And Dorian had just asked if Lady Pavus had an opinion on this.

And Halward Pavus had to admit Lady Aquinea Thalrassian-Pavus was still angry with her son for shaming the family and that she’d likely be the opposite of welcoming and…

Dorian had looked away and realised he essentially no longer had a mother and that had hurt. The conversation had ended not long after that, with Dorian telling his father he couldn’t come home yet, he had to see this through… and that Elisif was a good person, a kind person, who cared about him as he was, and whose only expectation was that he repay her loyalty and kindness with the same. He wasn’t letting her down.

_I don’t have many friends. I treasure the few I do have. And Elisif, my dear, you’re one of them and in a purely platonic way, I love you dearly._

“Always with the hugging,” he said gently, failing completely to keep the smile of his face as he held her in his arms. 

“Don’t tell me you don’t need it,” Elisif said, her voice muffled. She let him go, hands clasped to his shoulders. “Are you all right, Zylta-Bruder?”

“Means a brother in spirit who’ll defend her to the death,” Madanach called from where he was cuddling Alistair. “Translates literally as Brother of the Shield. It’s a Nord thing.”

Elisif glared at him and turned back to Dorian apologetically.

“I’m sorry about him. There’s no word for it in Thedosian. I just… wanted you to know I care about you and you’re my friend, and I will not let you struggle alone. Not ever.”

Dorian wiped at his eyes, wondering just why he was getting so emotional these days, and then Madanach was there too, both of them cuddling them, and then Alistair had joined them, and never mind all the Tevinter treatises on the blood chemicals realised by physical touch that actually caused all the good feelings. Dorian just felt, for once in his life, loved.

A few moments passed, and then it was Alistair of all people saying “wait, where’s Loghain?”

“You don’t even like the man,” Madanach said, but Alistair let go and looked up anyway.

“He’s Dorian’s boyfriend,” Alistair said stubbornly. “Where are you – yeah, you. Get over here and hug him.”

Loghain raised an eyebrow but did as asked, and Dorian gasped as he felt Loghain put his arms around him and kiss the top of his head. 

“It’s all right, pup. I’ve got you,” Loghain murmured. “I’ve got you.”

“What must you think of me after all this,” Dorian whispered, something in him still raging at him for being so weak in front of them, and that it wasn’t safe to show his emotions like this.

“That you’re very brave,” Elisif whispered. “That you’ve gone through so much, been so badly treated by people who are meant to love you more than anything, and you’re still here, still fighting. I’m honoured to know you, my friend.”

Dorian didn’t even know how to respond to that, only cuddling Loghain in one hand and Elisif with the other and letting them lead him back to camp. Today had been exhausting. Today had been terrifying. Today was going to end with him rounding up all the booze in the camp and drinking as much of it as he could before collapsing.

But he had three good friends and a boyfriend now, it turned out. He had a cause and somewhere to live. He could go home to Skyhold and pick up where he left off. His life didn’t have to fall apart over this. He didn’t have to fall apart over this.

Dorian hadn’t really ever thought he’d be able to have that. A secure stable life and a future where he could be himself. With a male partner who loved him. It might not be Loghain but there might be _someone_. 

Dorian might be able to be happy. Obviously he shouldn’t get his hopes up. But… it could happen. Maybe?

Dorian tightened his grip on Loghain and squeezed Elisif and let himself be led away. One thing at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Back to Skyhold, and Elisif was still seething over how House Pavus had treated Dorian, and still fussing over him a little… and still keen to find her own baby and give Maia a big cuddle and make sure she knew her mama loved her no matter what. 

They found Maia out skating on the ice outside Skyhold, or more precisely, being held aloft by Cicero and squealing while he spun and pirouetted on the ice beneath her.

Cicero glided to a halt as he saw them, carefully putting Maia down and grinning far too widely.

“Pretty Elisif! Cicero was, er, um… Maia wished to do skating!”

“MAMA!” Maia squealed, managing to skate over to Elisif all on her own and cuddling her. “Cicero was teaching me how to skate!”

Cicero had clearly been showing off all the tricky and dangerous moves and encouraging Maia to join in, but she was unharmed and clearly very excited so Elisif let it go, even if Madanach was still giving Cicero a glacial stare. 

Back to the keep itself, Elisif cuddling Maia all the way, and Maia excitedly chattering about all the interesting things she’d been up to, including conjuration practice with Eola, learning firebolts from Eola, baking fairy cakes with Cicero, hearing lots of scary bedtime stories from both of them and generally staying up way past her bedtime most nights. 

Elisif was going to have to leave Maia in Eola’s care for a whole week while they attended the Halamshiral peace talks. She was dreading it already.

But Maia was happy and only fell over on the ice once, and Alistair at that point picked her up and carried her back to Skyhold, and Elisif decided she wasn’t going to worry.

Until Mother Giselle stepped out of the garden while they were entering the keep, saw Dorian walk past with Alistair, having an animated conversation about the basics of spirit summonation with Maia, pursed her lips and intercepted Elisif.

“Dorian is still here,” Mother Giselle noted. “You didn’t send him back with his family.”

“No,” Elisif said, still quietly seething over the whole thing. “No I did not. I always said I was going to leave that decision to him. And he said no. He said he’s seeing this through with us because it’s the right thing to do. I’m not turning him away.”

Giselle had never looked so disapproving, not at Elisif anyway, and for the first time in years, Elisif felt nervous and anxious to put things right… at least momentarily, until the inner Dovah intervened.

_Pull yourself together. Whose strunmah is this, anyway??_

“I will not criticise your judgement, Inquisitor, but you have to know how this looks! Already there are… rumours.”

“What sort of rumours – wait, what??” Elisif cried as the implication dawned on her. “Oh my goodness, really? I’m not – I’m not his type!”

Dorian had overheard by this point, and had sidled back to join them.

“She really isn’t, I assure you,” Dorian told her, patting Elisif’s back. “We just had an argument with my father over my type not being anything like Elisif. I’m not using blood magic on her either.”

“That would be hard to do without my husband, former Templar boyfriend and my mage stepdaughter noticing,” Elisif said tersely. “Also Cicero is very observant and capable of dealing with a problem if necessary. And that’s assuming Dorian’s here for nefarious purposes, which he’s not! He’s been willing to fight his fellow Tevinters!”

She saw Mother Giselle grimace at the mention of Tevinter, and suddenly it dawned on Elisif what the problem might be.

“This is because of the Tevinter Chantry, isn’t it?” Elisif gasped, the pieces slotting into place. “You Orlesians, you’ve spent all this time telling people who don’t know any better that the Tevinter Chantry and all its adherents are black-clad monsters who wield blood magic without a second thought and sacrifice children. And now here’s Dorian, with the Inquisition and conspicuously being a good person and friends with the Herald of Andraste, and giving his all to help our cause, and he’s proving all that wrong just by being here. Honestly, Mother, I expected better from you.”

“I’m fully aware that not everyone from Tevinter is the same!” Giselle threw back, narrowing her eyes. “But centuries of evidence of the excesses of Tevinter magisters has shaped Orlesian opinion, and that Dorian has had to fight his own countrymen is proof enough he is an exception, not the rule. Thus these rumours will continue.”

“You never confirmed what they were,” Elisif said, still waiting for someone to say it out loud. “What _exactly_ are they saying about me and Dorian?”

“I… could not repeat them, Inquisitor,” Giselle said tersely, looking extremely uncomfortable over the whole situation and Elisif lost her patience.

“Oh so you’ve said them before?” Elisif snapped. Without waiting for a response, she looked over her shoulder and saw Loghain, who’d just walked in, presumably looking for Dorian. “Loghain! Could you come here for a minute?”

“Inquisitor?” Loghain asked, surprised and lip curling only a little at the presence of an Orlesian Chantry Mother. News that the Fereldan Landsmeet had commenced debating over forming their own Chantry in the absence of a Divine had become public by this point and already there’d been arguments in the Herald and Dragon over it, not to mention scandalised Orlesians debating the matter themselves. And Loghain Mac Tir had been one of those loudly arguing in favour of the Fereldan Chantry. Small wonder the presence of an Orlesian Chantry Mother irritated him.

“Loghain, there are apparently rumours swirling that, not content with a husband and a boyfriend, I’ve set my sights on Dorian as well. Set them to rest, would you?”

“My pleasure,” Loghain said, grinning as he put one arm round Dorian's shoulders, another round his waist, swept him back and kissed him. Elisif just looked on, smiling sweetly while Dorian gasped for breath and kissed Loghain back, this going on for several moments before Loghain straightened up, bringing a flushed Tevinter back with him.

Elisif glanced round the crowded Great Hall, grinning as a few of those present started to applaud, deciding she’d proven her point well enough.

“I’m not sleeping with him, Mother,” Elisif announced. “He’s got a boyfriend already.”

“I… see,” Mother Giselle said, managing not to look too alarmed. “Well, Herald, if you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I will raise no further objections… and humbly beg forgiveness of you both.”

She bowed and Elisif let her go, accepting the apology. No sense not being gracious over it. Loghain and Dorian were leaving the hall hand in hand, with the new lovers aura all over them both, and there clearly weren’t going to be any further rumours involving her and Dorian. All in all, this had gone rather well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The decision to leave Dorian to talk to his father is a controversial one in fandom, mainly due to people thinking it means you support Halward's actions. I don't think it does, but I also recognised I needed to show that. So I left the decision up to Dorian in the end, with Cole being the one to suggest reconciliation as he's
> 
> And he's got a boyfriend now too, which provided an interesting means of setting Mother Giselle's suspicions to rest. I couldn't resist going for it. XD
> 
> Next chapter should wrap up Josephine's personal quest. Technically it's settled mostly bloodlessly. Only if someone tries to stab the Inquisition Ambassador in front of the King in Rags, said traditional Reachman patriarch will have to do something about that...


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The House of Repose situation is starting to escalate, but Josie, despite everything, swears she has things under control. Madanach's not one to take chances though, and after Borkul finds out why Josephine's so opposed to bloodshed, decides that when you're the father of the Blight Witch, you don't have to kill someone to really ruin their day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the winding up of Josie's quest - I moved a few conversations around, but it's mostly canon... apart from the bit where we manage to have both outcomes. XD

Borkul finally made it back to Skyhold. No misadventures this time, just go to Val Royeaux (with Blackwall, Bull, Liriel and Sera along just in case – Liriel had been torn between staring in awe at the buildings and flinching at all the masks and clinging on to Bull for comfort), meet with this noblewoman and deliver a letter from her missing lover that the Inquisition had tracked down. In return for which, she’d sponsor the Du Paraquettes to lordship.

That had gone smoothly, and Borkul was returning to Skyhold to bring the news to Josephine and resupply before heading out again with the Chargers to meet with this judge who was supposed to be ratifying the agreement… but who’d insisted on Inquisition protection on a dangerous hunting trip first. Borkul had agreed to provide it. 

But that was a few days away, and Borkul welcomed the chance to see Josephine again.

So he made his way into the Great Hall, to Josephine’s office, and saw her there, at her desk, with Madanach at the desk in the other corner (he’d clearly cast some sort of illusion spell over himself to make people he didn’t know look straight past his desk as if he wasn’t there – Madanach’s standard practice when he was busy, but Borkul wasn’t affected). Cicero was kneeling by the fire, humming quietly to himself and one of the servants was bringing Josephine something – a tray of food with… wait, was that something glinting on their arm?

Cicero had glanced over his shoulder, his own arm flicking downwards. Madanach had sat up, his attention caught by Cicero. Borkul could feel his own instincts screaming at him, and instinctively he reached for Volendrung.

The tray went flying, and the ‘servant’ moved, knife in hand, before Josephine could even react… and a red blur flew across the room, blood spurting everywhere as Cicero’s knives severed arteries, and then an ice spear smacked into the hapless man’s back, sending him flying, which might be for the best because Borkul was moving by that point.

A warhammer to the chest and the assassin was breathing no more… and Josephine was sobbing at her desk, gasping for breath as she struggled to compose herself. Borkul put Volendrung down and went to her side.

“Josie, are you all right?” Borkul cried, putting an arm round her. Josie nodded, clinging on to him.

“Yes, yes I’m fine, Cicero was there in time and Madanach helped...” She indicated the two men, Cicero cleaning his daggers and looking solicitously over at Josephine and not looking remotely like he’d just carved someone up, and Madanach making his way over, concerned.

“You nearly got stabbed,” Madanach growled. “And I know you’re not a fighter by nature or profession. Don’t say you’re fine when you aren’t.”

“I… my lord, there – there is no need to fuss,” Josephine whispered but she didn’t look convincing. “I will be all right, I think. And… I am so sorry. This is the House of Repose’s doing, it must be. They must have decided my attempting to elevate the Du Paraquettes counts as triggering the contract.”

“And you’re deemed an easier target than the likes of Borkul, Vivienne or Eola,” Madanach murmured, seeing this all too well. “They must have guessed this might be a suicide mission but it wouldn’t matter as long as you died too.”

“It will matter if Cicero decides to pay them a visit,” Cicero growled and Josephine cried out.

“No, no more bloodshed, I beg you, please!” Josephine cried. “We… we can fix this. I will get the contract annulled, I swear!”

“Assassins don’t play by the rules, Josephine,” Madanach said quietly. “And if they succeed next time? There’ll be a next time. We might not always be there.”

And Borkul had to leave in a day or two, with Josie left unprotected. He didn’t like this at all. 

“Take the rest of the day off, that’s an order,” Madanach said, voice kind but firm. “Borkul, go with her. I’ll speak with Leliana, get her vetting the servants. There’s likely others. Cicero, a word.”

Borkul escorted Josephine out, leaving Madanach alone with Cicero, eyes meeting over a corpse.

“If I were to have this delivered to Eola, would she be able to make use of it?” Madanach asked, and Cicero eyed it, looking very nervous all of a sudden.

“She can probably find some use for it?” Cicero ventured, looking awfully flustered over something. Madanach decided not to inquire further.

“Can she interrogate the corpse,” Madanach sighed. “Get info on where they are and how to find them. I think a message needs sending, that they aren’t beyond our reach.”

Cicero brightened up immediately. “Oooh. OOOOOOHHHH! Of course, _of course!_ Cicero would be happy to help! He’s sure pretty Eola can get _something_. Send the body to her work room. Cicero will go and tell her she has a gift on the way.”

Madanach grinned and called for some servants. Josephine’s plan was all very well… but Madanach was a traditional Reachman warlord and no amount of civilising influence from Elisif or fancy Orlesian robes could change that. They tried to strike at the heart of his stronghold? Someone was going to pay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Borkul escorted Josephine back to her room, sitting her down in a chair and pouring her some wine. She really didn’t look all right. 

“Borkul, you do not have to stay,” Josephine sad quietly. “You must have things to do and you’ve done so much already.”

“I don’t mind,” Borkul said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “It’s my job to protect people. Except Madanach doesn’t really need it so much. But I think you might. And I like your company. You’re smart. And I like the way you think. And how you can get people who walk in with one opinion to walk away with their mind completely changed and agreeing with you and… it’s just impressive, that’s all.”

Josephine had gone pink, sipping her wine and staring at her feet. 

“I thank you, Borkul,” Josephine said, still shaking a little. “But it is not so impressive as all that. It is just a matter of finding mutual interest and common ground. It is a valuable skillset, yes, but it is also hard work… and it is the only alternative to bloodshed.”

Which had never bothered Borkul before in his life… but he’d spent his entire life in an Orc stronghold or a bandit camp or Cidhna Mine or a Forsworn camp of one sort or another, and even the cessation of hostilities and getting to live in comfort in Markarth hadn’t mellowed him that much, although he’d privately expressed concerns to Borgakh that he might be getting soft. She’d laughed and told him no danger of that, she’d heard the stories.

But those stories were from his younger days, when violence was the only course of action. Since then he’d seen a life without fighting, been confronted with a society at peace… and it had got him thinking, what did you do when you didn’t need to fight any more? What did you do when you could put your weapons down and rest? What happened when you realised you had nothing left to prove to anyone, because no one was seriously challenging his dominance?

Borkul was at this stage in his life, and getting to know Josephine was cementing it yet further, because while he was still a skilled warrior and he enjoyed fighting, it was rapidly ceasing to be his identity and starting to become just a job. And here was Josephine obsessed with a life without fighting. 

A little too obsessed.

“You’re really not keen on bloodshed, are you,” Borkul said, keeping his voice gentle. “What happened, Josephine? I mean, Elisif’s not keen on violence but she’ll use it when she has to. But that’s cause she knows sometimes you do have to. But not you. You really get upset by it, don’t you.”

Josephine sipped her wine, not meeting his eyes.

“Because it is such a waste, Borkul,” Josephine eventually whispered. “All that blood, all that death, so many lives so senselessly ended – there has to be a better way. We have to at least try to resolve our differences without resorting to violence.”

Borkul knew it. She had seen violence before. Which was a surprise considering she wasn’t a professional fighter and had never lived in a society at war, not until now anyway.

“So who died,” Borkul asked. “Who’d you see killed?”

Josephine froze, before downing her wine and seeming to steel herself.

“Did you know I used to be a bard,” Josephine finally said, and Borkul had not seen that coming.

“Wha- when was this?” Borkul managed to get out. “Was that how you really met Leliana? You said you met her after she fought the Archdemon and you threw a party to celebrate the return of a hero of the Blight.”

“I’d met her before when she was a professional bard but we weren’t close back then,” Josephine admitted. “No, this was while I was at university. I was eighteen years old, I’d just graduated from a very strict Orlesian finishing school, and went to study Politics, Philosophy and Economics at the University of Orlais. There I was, a young adult, finally out there in the world, free to do as I pleased, and surrounded by other young nobles in a similar situation. There was a group of us, young Antivans out there in a foreign land, so much grander than anything back home. We heard about the bards of Orlais and decided that glamourous lifestyle was for us. So we picked up masks and became bards.”

Borkul honestly could not picture this at all.

“I… er… didn’t know you even sang,” Borkul said nervously. “Did you enjoy it?”

Josephine’s face told its own story.

“I wasn’t suited,” Josephine admitted. “I think I would have left that life eventually. But there was an incident that decided me. A rival noble sent a bard to kill my patron. I went to stop him and we fought – scrapped, rather. Both of us terrified. He drew a knife and I panicked. I reached for a marble bust of Emperor Florian, and hit him with it. We were standing at the top of the stairs and he fell… and broke his neck. I ran to where he’d fallen, and when I took his mask off… Borkul, I knew him! We’d attended parties together, been to the same lectures, spoken many times – if I had thought to use my voice, to talk instead of fighting… he might not have died. I would not have had to attend his funeral, meet his grieving parents – he might have gone on to get married, have children, make a difference in the world! But he died at my hands, and I will never know what he would have become.”

Borkul got up, went over to her, knelt by her side and took her hand, not sure what to say, because he’d ended hundreds of lives in his time and lost no sleep over any of it. But he didn’t like Josephine being upset either, and she clearly was still deeply affected by the whole thing.

“Hey. It wasn’t your fault,” Borkul said, not used to having comfort people, but willing to try for her sake. “It was him or you. You had no choice.”

“Didn’t I?” Josephine said bitterly. “I could have at least tried non-violence. Instead I fought back and a man died. A life cut short because of me. I swore it would never happen again, and I took up diplomacy so I could stop more innocent lives coming to an end. I’ve tried ever since to use words and reason and persuasion to resolve disputes. If violence is necessary, it will be because we have exhausted every other option at our disposal.”

And now Borkul felt a little guilty at never having considered that before. Of stopping to talk a man out of a fight rather than brutally finish it. Because no one in a stronghold thought that way – you obeyed your chief or you challenged him to a fight, you didn’t debate. Even after leaving Mor Khazgur, Borkul hadn’t exactly moved in non-violent circles, and if you didn’t fight, people thought you were weak and took advantage. Being willing to dish out violence actually made fights less likely. You finishing a fight by brutally slaughtering your opponent meant everyone else would think twice before starting the next one.

“And that’s why you don’t want blood shed on your account,” Borkul realised. “You can just about manage the Inquisition having to fight but you don’t want anyone killed cause of you. That’s why you want the Du Paraquettes to annul the contract peacefully. Josie, I gotta tell you, after this Madanach’s probably gonna order a counter attack if he can. He thinks like an Orc chief in a lot of ways. You attack his stronghold, he has no option but to hit back harder so no one else gets any ideas.”

Josephine let out a little sob, her head in her hands.

“No,” she whispered. “No, there has to be a better way! I can fix this, I swear. Even if they are assassins, I don’t want them dead on my account!”

Borkul was about ready to tear his hair out by this point.

“Josie, this is getting dangerous!” Borkul cried. “You could have been killed! And what if Maia had been there? She’s in and out of that office all the time! Every time it rains she’s usually reading in a corner or playing with dolls by the fire.”

It had been raining most of that week and Maia had been forced inside most of the time, and she had indeed spent a lot of time in the office playing quietly or chatting with her father or watching the various visitors in fascination. She’d been around on the previous three occasions that particular servant had been there, and Josie realised in horror it had likely only been Maia’s presence, or possibly the presence of a war dog staring suspiciously at said servant, that had put him off before.

“Madre d’Andraste,” Josephine whispered, going pale. “Borkul, what do I do? I want to resolve this peacefully but… if they try again?”

“Then we stop them,” Borkul said firmly. “I’d stand guard myself if I wasn’t escorting this judge off hunting. Don’t worry. Leliana’ll add more guards and tighten security. Cicero’ll be around to poke into things too. And I don’t think they’ll attack again either. Not directly. But… tell you what. I can talk to the boss, talk him down from escalation. There’s non-lethal ways of sending a message too. I know he’s stopped short of mayhem on occasion. I’ll do that, and you can keep on with the Du Paraquettes plan. Cover our bases, you know.”

Josephine’s grateful smile had a way of making him blush. He really wasn’t used to reacting like this, what was wrong with him these days? But no one else was looking and so Borkul didn’t mind.

“Thank you,” Josephine told him. “You’ve been so helpful throughout all this. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

Got herself killed probably. Good thing Borkul was around to stop that sort of thing happening, wasn’t it now?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Night-time, and Bastien de Foucault, head of the House of Repose, slept soundly in his bed, despite… setbacks.

He’d expected Cyril to not return, but he’d not expected the man to fail him. He’d certainly not expected Melodie, Bernard, Andrastine and Lucien to follow, all murdered in their sleep or just plain disappeared. Only the elf, Liora, was still breathing, and he had a feeling that was just so she could relay the news to him about the other agents.

And only one figure connected all the deaths. The motley-clad figure of the Inquisitor’s personal Harlequin. Cicero. 

The name sounded Orlesian… but it wasn’t. Written down, it looked almost Tevene or Antivan. Except by all accounts he wasn’t one of them either – he had pale skin like a Fereldan’s and strange red hair. Definitely not a bard, definitely not trained by anyone Bastien knew, but he was a trained professional, as Jean-Pierre had confirmed when he’d met with him and the others at the Hotel de Ghislain.

So who was he and how had the Herald of Andraste, an Avvar tribal chieftain by all accounts, found him? And why was he taking an interest in the Montilyet Affair? Surely the Herald hadn’t taken a personal interest? 

He hoped not. But even an Inquisitor wasn’t beyond the reach of the House of Repose. And so he slept soundly after having made plans to get a few replacement agents in place.

At least until something thudded into the headboard above him and the weight of a full-grown man landed on his chest.

“Hello!”

Magic flared and a strange arcane light lit up the room and Bastien opened his eyes to see the man himself, Cicero the Fool, beaming down at him.

Had he cast the spell? Maker, was he a mage? Should he have researched the Circles? Hard to do with most of them either with the Inquisition or scattered to the winds… and something told him he’d never been in one of them either.

“Monsieur Cicero,” Bastien sighed. “How did you get in here, and were you aware calling cards are the conventional means of announcing one’s presence?”

“Oh Cicero knew,” Cicero said cheerfully. “But that is for social calls, and this is business. Sweetling, he cannot see our friends, lift the illusion.”

Another spell from a hidden someone, and Bastien immediately gagged at the smell. And then he saw the two things on either side of the bed and screamed.

“Hush, you will hurt their feelings,” Cicero scolded, placing a hand over Bastien’s mouth. “Brothers, Cicero is sorry, Sieur de Foucault is clearly not thinking clearly, having just woken up.”

The two hurlocks standing either side of the bed growled at him, and there was another prowling in the background – a shriek, although Bastien wasn’t familiar with the different types of darkspawn. He knew enough to recognise the monster under the bed though. 

“Now then,” Cicero said calmly. “This is Cicero’s offer. The House of Repose has a contract on Lady Josephine. The Inquisition would prefer to keep its ambassador alive. So, as head of the House of Repose, Cicero wants you to go to their archives, retrieve all copies of said contract and the original, place them in this red envelope, and take it to Val Royeaux. Go to the Lover’s Alcove. There’ll be a woman in a red dress and a silver mask waiting for you. Sit next to her, give her the envelope and then leave. Then tell your assassins there is no contract against the Montilyets and call them off.”

He’d removed his hand from Bastien’s mouth. Bastien, his throat dry, shot glances at the hurlocks.

“And if I refuse?” he managed to say, knowing full well his order would not take this climbdown well. 

“Then Cicero leaves, lets his new darkspawn brothers do what they want with you, and goes to see if your second-in-command is more reasonable,” Cicero purred, and Bastien flinched. He wasn’t afraid of death, few assassins were, but everyone feared the Blight. He didn’t want to be killed by darkspawn – or worse, left alive, a hateful Blighted creature, no longer a child of the Maker. Bastien de Foucault wasn’t a devout Andrastian, but you didn’t live in Val Royeaux and avoid the faith entirely.

“You aren’t afraid we’ll play you falsely, or seek revenge after on the Inquisition?” Bastien asked nervously.

“Oh no,” Cicero said, still grinning. “We’re sure you’ll keep your word. We’re also sure the Deep Roads won’t mysteriously open up underneath your headquarters and darkspawn ravage your people too. But either of those things could change.”

Bastien flinched, nodding wordlessly, and Cicero cackled, wrench the ornate dagger out of the headboard and took his leave, scampering out of the door. The darkspawn remained for a few more minutes, all staring down at him with those soulless grey eyes of theirs, and then portals automatically opening and transporting them back to whatever cavern in the Deep Roads they’d come from in the first place.

Bastien was alone. But he didn’t sleep well that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A week later, and Josephine had never felt so free. Borkul’s hunting trip had been a massive success, the judge had signed the papers, and Madanach of all people had attended a party to sweet-talk Minister Bellise into ratifying them, Borkul in tow. A few diplomatic favours and the Du Paraquettes had become nobility again, annulled the contract… and the House of Repose had been happy to inform her there was no contract against her life, they considered the matter closed, also very well played but to remember the Maker’s injunction against creatures of the Blight and be careful who she picked for allies.

And here she was in Val Royeaux, enjoying the sunshine. Cicero, Eola, Sera and Dagna were further along the harbour, all having an animated conversation about… well, mainly it was Eola sarcastically commenting that this was typical Orlais, lining the damn lake with lead then wondering why the fish were dying. And Cicero nodding and saying yes, lead was toxic, everybody knew that, there was a reason the Imperial City used copper for its water piping. And then Sera going wait, what, Val Royeaux’s water system had lead pipes, apart from nobles who’d have their own wells usually, and the Grand Cathedral had its own supply too… fucking bastards.

Josephine now had to wonder how much lead-tainted water she’d had in her life but no good could come of this train of thought. She was alive to worry and that was the main thing. 

House Montilyet had a chance to rebuild its finances, and that was even better.

“Thank you,” she sighed, glancing up at the Orc at her side. “Thank you for all your help. You didn’t need to go to all this trouble for me! The original delivery, dealing with assassins, talking to Countess Dionne, risking yourself on that hunting trip, talking Madanach into not only not using violence but going to negotiate with Minister Bellise… truly, you have done far too much. How do I ever repay you?”

“Ah, you don’t need to worry about that,” Borkul said awkwardly. “We’re friends, right? Friends help each other, don’t they? If I ever need a favour in Antiva, I’ll call it in, but until then, we’re good.”

Josephine couldn’t stop the blush spreading across her face, nor could she quite stop the feeling of disappointment at Borkul seeming to brush it off like that.

“When this is over, come to Antiva,” Josephine told him, wondering what he’d think of the place… and what her family would think of him. They wouldn't know what to make of an Orc, but they’d surely be pleased to see the one who’d helped restore the family fortune. “The welcome we’ll give you, they’ll sing of for years!”

Borkul hunched his shoulders awkwardly, and Josephine swore his ears had gone pink – yes, it was obvious against the green, definitely blushing.

“You think they’d let an Orc in their house?” Borkul asked quietly. “Lot of people wouldn’t. Never really bothered me in the Reach, the Reachmen weren’t exactly let in high society homes either. But going somewhere civilised… I’ve seen the looks, Josie. Even with the masks, I know what they’re thinking. They’re seeing a monster. Maybe they ain’t wrong.”

“They’re wrong,” Josephine said firmly, reaching out to take his hand. “You’re no monster. You’re a good man. It doesn’t matter you’re not human. Or what you look like.”

Borkul glanced up in surprise, and then smiled, squeezing her hand back. 

“That’s good to know,” Borkul said gently. “Think I may need it at Halamshiral. I can stop by and talk to you when we’re there? I’m gonna be spending the entire evening glaring at Orlesians otherwise.”

Josephine could imagine that. Borkul with his bodyguard face on, snapping at people to move along and did they have a problem? She’d seen him do it with junior Inquisition staff who’d not got the wit to hide the fact they were staring. She could see it happening at the Winter Palace too.

“I’ll keep you company,” Josephine promised, and Borkul grinned. The two of them spent the afternoon there, watching the sun on the Mirror Lake, and Josephine felt like she hadn’t a care in the world.

Neither did Borkul… at least not until he got back to the hotel and found Leliana waiting for him.

How the hell did she get in to his room? He hadn’t even known she’d left Skyhold. But here she was, two agents with her, both leaning up against the wall. At least until she dismissed them anyway.

“Borkul,” Leliana said, frowning at him. “Forgive the intrusion. Only I was reading the letter the House of Repose sent and… they referred to creatures of the Blight. I had my agents investigate. It turns out the head of the order was visited by someone bearing a strong resemblance to Cicero accompanied by some bound into submission darkspawn, and told to deliver the original contract and all copies in a red envelope to a woman who was wearing a silver mask in the shape of a skull with a red eagle on the forehead. A mask we found in Eola’s possessions.”

“She’s not gonna be thrilled you went through her things,” Borkul said, folding her arms. “You’re lucky the wards didn’t set demons off.”

“We never needed to search them directly,” Leliana said, hint of a smile on her face. “We just found the design in Harritt’s workshop. He was happy to tell us who it was for.” Her smile faded. “She’s digging into dark and dangerous territory if she’s summoning those things. The Blight will swallow you alive if you aren’t careful. And she’s weaving magic around it?” 

“Reachmen weave all sorts of dark and dangerous magic,” Borkul growled. “Talk to her da. Or Elisif. It ain’t my problem.”

Leliana narrowed her eyes, pocketing the parchment.

“Perhaps it isn’t,” she said coldly. “But you being friendly with Josephine is my problem. Josie’s an innocent in love, Borkul. She’s a good Andrastian too. And Antiva was ravaged by a Blight once. Right now, she thinks you helped secure things using honourable means. What if she were to find out the truth? That the House of Repose had already capitulated after Madanach sent the Laughing Dagger and the Blight Witch to negotiate? And you knew, didn’t you. Don’t bother lying, Borkul, you look angry but not surprised.”

“What was I supposed to do, let them kill her?” Borkul snapped. “I’m not standing by and letting them hurt Josie! Especially not because of some stupid bloodfeud from decades ago! So yeah, I asked Madanach if there wasn’t a bloodless way of telling them we meant business. And he and I both know the best way to stop a fight is make sure the other guy’s scared shitless of you. So yeah, we put those two on the job. Think Sera helped get access and made sure the servants were out of the way.”

“Does she know about the darkspawn summons?” Leliana asked, faintly amused. Borkul just shrugged. He’d not been on the job personally, had he? He’d let Cicero handle it.

“Well,” Leliana said at length. “Eola’s magic is… a concern, but one I will raise with the Herald. I don’t approve, but we are fighting monsters. Fighting like with like – well, if the Herald thinks it necessary, we follow her orders. I will monitor the situation. The House of Repose is unlikely to speak openly of this but if there are rumours, I can counter them. It will do our reputation no harm to be rumoured to have power over the very Blight itself. But as for you and Josie… Borkul, I know your type. Perhaps the Inquisition needs warriors happy to kill on command, but does Josie? I am unconvinced.”

And suddenly Borkul realised where this was going.

“Wait. Is this the kin talk? Is this where the woman’s kin all sit round the suitor and tell him all the horrible things they’re going to do if their little girl gets her heart broken? You ain’t even a Montilyet!”

Leliana snapped the letter away, suddenly scowling and Borkul knew he’d got to her.

“Her kin are all the way in Antiva, and they’re merchants, not warriors!” Leliana snapped. “If Josie is hurt by you, they can do nothing… but I can. You hurt her, Borkul, and I will tell her what really happened. Maybe I’ll do other things too. My people are always watching. We will know.”

Borkul didn’t doubt it. Damn, but Leliana was a frightening woman sometimes.

“I’m not gonna hurt her, Leliana. I promise,” Borkul told her, and Leliana seemed to believe him.

“You’d better not,” Leliana said, getting up to take her leave. “I will see you back at Skyhold, Borkul.”

Leliana saw herself out, and Borkul sank into a chair, wondering what he’d let himself in for. Honestly, he and Josie weren’t even a couple. She didn’t want him that way – did she?

Borkul didn’t know and didn’t dare to hope. She seemed grateful, had even offered to invite him to Antiva but… maybe she was just being friendly. Hard to tell what a person meant in Orlais. Even apparently friendly remarks were just a mask for something else. But all the same… he liked her. He liked her a lot. And she’d offered to keep him company at Halamshiral. That meant a lot.

It might even be worth risking Leliana’s wrath over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eola's figured out how to summon darkspawn! Now there's an ability to keep under wraps.
> 
> Next chapter, we finally get to Halamshiral. I did have one outcome in mind, started to reconsider... then something originally planned for Trespasser turned out to work better in Wicked Eyes, and the outcome changed entirely. All I've got to do is write it now.


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corypheus is planning to assassinate the Empress of Orlais and take advantage of the resulting chaos to invade. The Empress of Orlais is too distracted by her own cousin starting a civil war in an attempt to usurp her throne to have realised. The Inquisition can't allow this to happen, and so it's off to the peace talks, held by Orlesian tradition as part of a Grand Masquerade Ball. However, no one at the Inquisition is exactly used to fancy parties, and everyone is on edge. From deciding on suitable outfits to mastering the etiquette, problems abound... but perhaps the biggest problem is the Inquisitor realising that it's not just a matter of how to save Empress Celene... but should they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the chapter gap - I was writing this section! It is long - about 40k words. There is a lot of conniving and intrigue going on. It's going to be about four chapters at least covering the whole of Halamshiral. I had one ending picked, then ended up thinking it over and changing it, and then a plot point originally saved for Trespasser turned out to be more relevant and certainly easier to write here. There's also one backstory reveal that I've had in mind for forever, and finally get to show you all! There's a lot going on, but I'm pleased with how it turned out.
> 
> But before the ball itself, a little light relief.

No one expected the Halamshiral peace talks to go smoothly… but no one had expected things to go south several weeks before the Inquisition even arrived. Specifically, the Inquisition dress uniform had been unveiled and shown to the Deputy Inquisitor for the first time.

“I’m not wearing that,” Madanach snapped. “Look at it, it’s indecent.”

The dress uniform was a red tunic and blue trousers covering all visible flesh from the neck down. In no way could it be said to be indecent.

“What… exactly is the problem?” Josephine asked. The unveiling was happening in the relative privacy of the war room, the uniform mounted on a tailor’s dummy by the far wall. “We went for an austere and conservative look befitting of an army formed in the Maker’s name. Cassandra and Cullen were both fine with it.”

“I told you we should have asked Vivienne to recommend a tailor,” Leliana sighed, arms folded as she leaned against the corner. “I just didn’t think Madanach would be the one objecting. Alistair, there you are. Your boyfriend’s refusing to wear the dress uniform due to it being obscene. Did you have an opinion on the matter?”

“Obscene??” Alistair had entered the room, seen the uniform, nodded approvingly and only then registered Madanach’s unhappiness. “Er… am I missing something? I’d be fine wearing it. It looks nice! Very smart. Only can I have a version in blue? That colour? Clashes horribly with my hair.”

Josephine scribbled this on her clipboard, thankful to have someone whose request was actually reasonable.

“I think we can accommodate different colours for the Inquisitor’s partners. Madanach, would you prefer something in a different colour?”

“No!” Madanach cried, striding over to the uniform and gesturing at the bottom of the tunic. “I want something where the cloth actually covers my ass! Look at this. LOOK AT IT. The hem of this doesn’t even come half way down my backside. You think I want the whole of the Imperial Court able to see my butt-crack??”

It occurred to Josephine, far too belatedly, that his traditional Reachman gear was all knee-length kilts, and that even when he wasn’t in that, all his clothes involved either tunics of similar length or flowing mage robes. He might wear trousers or leggings underneath for warmth, but his backside was always covered by loose-hanging fabric.

“My lord, you should have said!” Josephine sighed. “I must apologise. I had no idea your culture’s modesty values precluded trouser suits on men. I will get something ordered immediately, with a kilt.”

And that might have been it… until the door burst open and Cicero stormed in, waving his own copy of the Inquisition uniform, Dorian and Vivienne close behind him.

“THIS. WILL. NOT. DO!!!!”

Madanach, for once, actually grinned at his son-in-law, who’d thrown the offending garment on the floor. Alistair had raised his hands, disclaimed all responsibility for the design and slipped out. Leliana looked like she was trying not to laugh. Josephine had gritted her teeth and was looking pained.

“Cicero. I was… given to understand you were… unconcerned with high fashion.”

Leliana was definitely snorting under her breath by this point, and Madanach risked a glance at Cicero, who’d gone an odd shade of purple. 

“Unconcerned? _Unconcerned??_ ” Cicero shrieked. “Cicero has been preparing for this for _weeks!_ Cicero has been studying the trends, experimenting with colours and fabric, looking at patterns. Cicero spent three days alone looking at _hats!_ Eola’s stopped even trying to be interested! Cicero ended up going over designs with Bull instead. Cicero didn’t know he’d even know anything about clothes but it turns out he does. And the day is approaching and Cicero learns he is supposed to wear THIS?? Cicero cannot. He just cannot! Dorian, nice Dorian, and dearest Enchanter Vivienne, tell them!”

He was wringing his hands, turning to both mages, and indeed Madanach, looking at his wits’ end, and Dorian patted him on the back.

“There, there, Cicero old chap. We’re going to get the designs changed, and we’ll get you into something glittery and ruffled and fabulous before you know it. We _are_ getting the designs changed, aren’t we. I’m all for a man in uniform but this is ridiculous. We’re going to an Orlesian high society party. It’s going to be a riot of extravagance. We need to fit in.”

“We need to be noticed which is why we decided on a conservative design in order to stand out...” Josephine began, clearly flustered, and then Leliana stepped in to assist.

“Also the shiny off the shoulder number you were hoping for would be scandalous,” Leliana pointed out, clearly loving every minute of this. “It’s not done to arrive showing off the amount of flesh you consider appropriate.”

“It will be when _I_ am done,” Dorian sniffed and Vivienne patted him on the shoulder as she moved into the room.

“Darling, it’s a more than appropriate design for the likes of Commander Cullen and the rank and file but if you wish to dress the more notable members of the Inquisition, they will need custom designs. I’d already taken the precaution of informing my own tailor in advance of course. He might be able to draw something up for you as well.”

“Oh, Cicero has already done most of the work on his own outfit already, but for a small fee, he is happy to assist Dorian as well...”

“What, you made your own?? I didn’t know you were trained in tailoring.”

“Well, Cicero isn’t, not really, but he had to pose as one for a contract once and his mama taught him to sew as a boy, and he’s always liked needlework and…”

Josephine looked like she was about to have a nervous breakdown, and things might have got out of hand had Alistair not returned… and he wasn’t alone.

“Hello! I brought the Inquisitor. Thought she should have a look.”

Everyone piped down and parted to allow Elisif to enter the room. She noticed Josephine looking stressed, Cicero pouting, Madanach looking stubborn, and then her eyes fell on the uniform.

“Is there a problem? I thought it seemed like a nice design.”

“It is!” Alistair said, hand on her shoulder. “I’d just like mine in blue, that’s all.”

“Darling, it’s a soldier’s uniform, you cannot possibly expect the Court Enchanter...”

“Elisif, I daresay it’s perfectly fine for rank and file Inquisition and those without the taste to know better or care, but I for one refuse to wear something that doesn’t speak to my unique personality and you cannot possibly expect the Inquisitor’s inner circle to wear a mere _uniform..._ ”

“Elisif, dear Elisif, Cicero is not a soldier, Cicero is a special agent and he cannot, he simply _cannot!_ I am having palpitations at the mere thought! Dearest, most beloved Elisif, think of poor Cicero’s _nerves!_ ”

Poor Elisif’s nerves were looking a bit shredded at this point too.

“All right, stop!” Elisif cried. “Am I to take it all this fuss is because you don’t like the outfits??”

“YES!” three mages and a high-strung assassin cried. Elisif could only rub her forehead and sigh.

“All right. I don’t suppose we all need to turn up in identical uniforms,” Elisif sighed. “Look, get me a pen and paper, we’ll make a list of who’s going and who’ll be fine with the uniform and who won’t be. Right, Cullen, Borkul, Sera – they won’t care, give them uniforms. Alistair, uniform but use Grey Warden colours. Varric – will probably be fine with it but I will ask him. Cole – he’ll probably spend the entire evening hiding but do offer him one. Liriel, Cassandra, Blackwall, Eola and Bull aren’t going. Leliana, are you OK with a uniform?”

“I’ve been to enough balls in my time, Inquisitor, and my barding days are done. A uniform is fine for me,” Leliana said, smiling. 

Josephine was likewise happy to wear one, saying if she wore a ball gown, people might think her there as a Montilyet rather than the Inquisition Ambassador. Which just left the objectors.

“And you three wouldn’t be seen dead in it,” Elisif said wearily, to enthusiastic nods from all three of them. 

“Cicero is making his own,” Cicero informed her. “Cicero is not wearing that.”

Which was all Elisif needed, but in the end she allowed it as long as she and Josephine got to approve the design. Vivienne she was happy to allow to make use of her own tailor, and alternative arrangements were soon being made for Dorian as well.

And that just left Madanach. Who… was positively radiating misery.

“You don’t like it either, do you,” Elisif sighed. Madanach shook his head, actually pouting.

“I want a kilt,” Madanach insisted. “I’m not wearing that!”

Elisif hadn’t expected him to feel that angry and upset over it. He’d worn trousers in Cidhna Mine, hadn’t he… oh. But never, to Elisif’s knowledge, since. Not unless it was under mage robes.

Chagrined, Elisif stepped forward and took Madanach in her arms, cuddling him, understanding.

“Josephine, get him something to wear that incorporates a kilt rather than trousers. Something a little magey.”

“Thank you,” Madanach murmured in her ear, dropping into Tamrielic. “I always swore after that mine, never again.”

Elisif rubbed his back and comforted him, and got assurances off Josephine that of course Madanach would get an outfit that reflected his cultural sensibilities.

And then Leliana asked the one, very pertinent as it turned out, question that no one else had thought to ask. 

“And you, Inquisitor? Are you wearing this?”

“What? Oh! No, I’m waiting to see what Josie’s got planned for me. Is it pretty? I hope it’s pretty!”

Silence, and an entire room turned to Josephine, who looked mortified, and Leliana was biting her lip as she stared at Josephine, realising the one most opposed to wearing the uniform was the Herald herself.

Elisif was realising it too, staring at the uniform and looking like she was about to cry.

“I don’t get a pretty ball gown?” Elisif whispered, heartbroken, and then the room broke out in renewed arguing.

“But Elisif _must_ have a pretty ball gown!” Cicero cried. “We cannot expect the Herald of Andraste to look like everyone else!”

“My wife wants a dress, Josephine,” Madanach said, brows drawing together in a glare. “Hope you’re going to find her something.”

Elisif was being comforted by Dorian who was promising of course they’d find her something, and Vivienne was already offering the contact details of several fine _couturiers_ and _modistes_ who would be happy to outfit the Herald, and Josephine gave in, on condition resources were given over to fundraising immediately, because this would not come cheap.

Elisif made the change on the war table personally, and so arrangements were made.

And so it was, one fine evening a few weeks later, the Inquisition party arrived at the Winter Palace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Winter Palace turned out to be a vast blue, white and gilded edifice, sprawling across a vast estate, and the gardens were a riot of greenery and marble statuary, even the spikes on the outer walls managing to look elegant.

“Aedra, look at it, it’s huge,” Elisif whispered, staring at it from the carriage, the palace visible for miles. “It must be twice the size of the Blue Palace.”

“Yeah, but it’s not sitting on a vast natural arch with views over half the country, is it?” Madanach said, sounding far too confident. “Elisif, we’ve got this. We’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be too sure about that,” Alistair warned. “Orlesians’ll eat you alive if you’re not careful. Leliana’s told me things that’d make your toes curl. You can’t trust any of them.”

Cicero, allowed the privilege of riding with the Herald mainly because she’d been becoming increasingly nervous as the day approached and been clinging on to her favourite assassin for reassurance, patted Elisif’s hand.

“It is not as big as the Imperial Palace,” Cicero said cheerfully. “All will be well. Cicero is not worried.”

“You’re not allowed to stab people on the dance floor,” Alistair told him, grinning. “Seriously, they did tell you public stabbing’s not allowed, right?”

Cicero just kept smiling as he gazed out of the window at the brightly lit palace.

“ _Public_ stabbing, of course,” Cicero purred. “Cicero knows the rules of the Game.”

Well, at least someone was happy. Elisif didn’t share his feelings. Events had conspired to thrust the Inquisition more into the limelight than she’d have liked – the expedition to the Frostbacks had returned and a chastened Sister Dorcas had had to admit her translations were wrong, Tyrdda’s legendary weapon was indeed a mage’s staff.

Madanach had given the staff to Liriel as a reward for finding it all out in the first place, and the official monograph authored by Liriel of Alinor and Deputy Inquisitor Madanach had been published, with alphabets of the ancient Avvar languages now available to scholars all over Thedas. The Chantry was gritting its teeth but it could do little. Besides, the Chantry had bigger problems. The Landsmeet had voted, over three-quarters of them deciding to set up their own Chantry, and Queen Anora’s speech declaring it law had been keen to highlight the absurdity of Andraste’s very birthplace being deemed incapable of managing its own spiritual affairs.

Needless to say, the Chantry was furious, Orlais was scandalised… but both had other problems to deal with. Elisif however knew that once Orlais had sorted out its political leadership and a new Divine was on the throne, Ferelden could be in the firing line… and here was the Inquisition caught in the middle. Because Elisif had already publicly given her blessing to Anora, announcing that in the light of the current crisis and the Chantry’s inability to organise itself, Ferelden was within its rights to make its own arrangements for the spiritual wellbeing of its people.

It likely wouldn’t have earned her friends in Orlais. And here she was, about to enter the belly of the beast itself, and not all the fine clothing in the world could make her feel better about it.

Empress Celene had been wary of the Inquisition despite a reputation for piety, probably rightly seeing it as part competition, part heresy. The Fereldan Separation likely wasn’t helping.

Fortunately, Grand Duke Gaspard had had no such qualms and likely wasn’t that bothered about the Chantry’s reaction either. While her advisors had seen him as most likely to enjoy the idea of invading Ferelden, they’d also agreed he was far less likely to bow to Chantry pressure. What that said about his commitment to the faith was anyone’s guess… but maybe he’d respect her exploits as a warrior. Maybe.

There was also the complicating factor of the leader of the elven resistance, Ambassador Briala, expert spymaster and Celene’s former lover, who’d been invited to the talks as well. What this meant was anyone’s guess… but Madanach in particular had been keen to make her acquaintance. Elisif just hoped this didn’t mean a subsequent escalation in the tactics used by Briala’s people. So far they’d just restricted themselves to espionage and exploiting the Game… but that could all change. Especially if her husband started giving her tips on starting an insurrection.

Varric had also recently completed and published his latest novel, _Rise of the Dragonborn_ , to critical acclaim all over Ferelden and the Free Marches, with an Antivan release date scheduled for six weeks from now. Varric had assured her his books didn’t sell in Orlais… but it was out there and published, and the resemblance of the protagonists to her and Madanach was too obvious for comfort. Still, nothing she could do about that now.

The carriages came to a halt, everyone disembarked, and Elisif allowed Alistair to help her out. The purple ball gown they’d got for her was beautiful, but not easy to climb out of carriages in. 

On the other hand, at least she wasn’t trying to walk in high heeled boots. Very fashionable for a man insecure about his height, and she’d fully expected Cicero to be wearing them.

She’d not expected Madanach to show up in a pair and unlike Cicero, he’d not spent anything like as much time practising how to walk in them. Which was why Alistair was now having to help Madanach out of the carriage as well, catching him as he nearly lost his balance.

“There’s a pair of flat ones in the trunk, are you sure you don’t want me to get them for you?” Alistair asked, helping Madanach steady himself.

“No!” Madanach snapped, straightening up, and seeing him actually taller than her for once was… weird. “These are fine. I’m fine with them. Alistair, stop fussing. Really.”

“So I should let go and let you walk into the palace on your own then?” Alistair asked, starting to step away. Madanach yelped and grabbed his arm, and Elisif struggled not to laugh.

“Please don’t leave me,” Madanach whispered.

“I told you you should have gone for the one inch heels,” Elisif sighed. “I swear Madanach, if you break your ankle...”

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” Madanach insisted. “Now for the love of Mara, can we get going?”

The gates swung open, Inquisition guards marched in and Elisif made her entrance, purple ball-gown flowing behind her, skirt billowing as she walked, open at the back with silk laces tying it together, bodice cinching her waist in and a daring neckline at the front which would have been scandalous had a woollen shawl with golden diamond dragons embroidered on it not saved her modesty. Long gloves finished off the ensemble. All in imperial purple, which had no special status in Orlais, where the colours and fashions changed with the season – but in Tamriel, associated with royalty. Even if no one here understood it, Elisif liked the idea of sending a message anyway.

Nobles saw and nobles whispered, but Elisif’s attention was drawn by the man approaching, the mask one Elisif had been shown the design of before even leaving Skyhold.

Gaspard de Chalons, contender for the throne and the one who’d invited them to attend as his guests, here to greet her personally.

He turned out to be an imposing figure, clearly still a skilled fighter despite the brightly coloured silks, and possessed of the outward charm that most influential Orlesians wore like a second mask, if rather more straightforward than most. Elisif could appreciate that at least. 

“Inquisitor Elisif,” he greeted her, bowing as she approached. “Your reputation precedes you, madame. It is a pleasure to meet you in person at last. They have said you are a mix of barbarian warrior and Andraste come again. I’m pleased to see the barbarian part is a lie.”

“I know enough of Orlais to not turn up in fur and bone to a gathering as magnificent as this,” Elisif replied, smiling as he kissed her hand. “Truly, I had no idea the Winter Palace was this impressive!”

“It was built to represent Orlais at her best,” Gaspard said, letting her hand go and inclining his head. “Alas, all too often it is the home of Orlais at her worst – superficial beauty masking a darker truth. Truly, the Game saps so much of Orlais’s strength, but alas we are obliged to play it and if we do not play it well, our opponents will make us look like villains.”

A weary sigh and then Gaspard glanced at her, eyes shrewd from behind the Chalons mask. 

“That might even include the sainted Herald of Andraste if she does not take care. The Game cares little for the rightness of one’s cause, Inquisitor.”

“I’ve usually found that to be the case with most politics,” Elisif replied, recalling heated debates among her own people over the rightness of Ulfric’s cause and she still didn’t know if she’d chosen the right course. In the end it had been grief and revenge that had driven her choices… and driven her into Madanach’s arms, a man who understood both all too well. She did genuinely love him, of course… but a large part of the attraction was that he did accept her as she was – all of her. She didn’t have to be a hero or a High Queen or a Herald. She could just be Elisif. 

She wasn’t going to have that luxury at Halamshiral, but she did have her husband. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him let go of Alistair and actually manage to make his way over to her on his own. 

Silk shirt and fashionable doublet from the waist up, but from the waist down, a black leather kilt rather than breeches, and of course the knee-high boots with the two-inch heels. He was definitely attracting attention. Mostly it was positive, at least from the women, but a few of the men were glaring at him. Orlesian gender norms were clearly rather firmer than the masks and make-up and finery indicated.

Gaspard eyed him, clearly not sure quite how to react, a desire to court the Inquisitor’s favour at war with a military man’s distaste for Madanach’s apparent effeminacy.

_He’s not effeminate, he just has flexible standards of masculinity._ Elisif reached out a hand to her husband and slipped a protective arm round him.

“Grand Duke, may I present my husband, Deputy Inquisitor Madanach? Madanach, this is Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Madanach purred, shaking Gaspard’s hand. “My thanks for inviting us. We’re honoured to be able to attend this little gathering. Life at Skyhold doesn’t leave a lot of time for a party.”

“That I can believe, messere,” Gaspard said, maintaining his polite facade. “Your reputation speaks of you as a man of pragmatism over principle… and a noted apostate of no little talent.”

Well, at least he didn’t outright say everyone thought he was a maleficar. Madanach just shrugged.

“I leave the principles to my wife here,” Madanach said cheerfully. “She decides what the right thing to do is, I try and figure out how to actually make it work.”

“He’s very good at it,” Elisif said, squeezing his arm and smiling up at him. Gaspard wisely made no comment, instead glancing over their shoulders to where Alistair was chatting to Cicero.

“And behind you, is that your Fereldan paramour? He does look like portraits I’ve seen of the late King Cailan.”

Alistair stopped, eyes travelling to Gaspard as he laughed nervously.

“That is indeed Alistair,” Elisif said, managing to hide her nerves. It was one thing for Alistair to be their openly acknowledged partner at Skyhold. It was quite another for the whole of the Orlesian court to be passing judgement and Elisif suddenly wondered if bringing him had been a good idea. 

“Ferelden might be a dangerous ally to have,” Gaspard warned. “Given that their Landsmeet has decided to court controversy by setting up its upstart Chantry. I personally couldn’t care less what the dog lords worship or how, but the next Divine might have other ideas. The Inquisition might find itself with hard choices to make.”

The Inquisition only had to make contact with Tamriel again and Elisif would have the Legion at her disposal. But that was not for Gaspard to know.

“The Chantry doesn’t even have a Divine at the moment, and I don’t see them picking one any time soon,” Elisif said crisply. “My priority is Corypheus. What Anora does to safeguard her citizens’ wellbeing in these troubled times is her own affair.”

“Indeed,” Gaspard said, far too smoothly. “But you should be aware Celene has opinions too. Specifically, she is appalled by Anora’s decision, and she was never on good terms with Anora to begin with. Are you aware that during the Fifth Blight, Celene was corresponding with King Cailan pledging Orlesian assistance? I was involved with planning the military response. There are rumours a more permanent alliance was on the cards. I had heard Cailan was coming under pressure to divorce Anora for failing to provide him with an heir… and that he was considering marrying Celene. She certainly seemed… appreciative of his charms. Alas, it came to naught. We all know what happened at Ostagar. Celene was most grieved indeed. I wonder how she will respond to you bringing Cailan’s brother before her. A potential rival for Anora’s crown no less.”

Elisif laughed nervously, fingers curling tighter into Madanach’s arm, as she began to realise what else might have been going on at Ostagar and just why Loghain had left his son-in-law to die. Being about to divorce his daughter in favour of the Orlesian Empress would have been more than sufficient grounds for Loghain to start plotting Cailan’s downfall. Madanach would have done exactly the same thing if Kaie’s spouse had been considering leaving her for Ulfric Stormcloak.

But never mind that. Celene had had a crush on Cailan… and now Elisif was bringing his brother to the peace talks.

“What if she likes him?” Elisif whispered frantically to Madanach as Gaspard took his leave and made his way inside. “What if Celene wants Alistair as the price for an alliance? Especially now! Alistair as her husband, she invades, restores the Orlesian Chantry, makes him King… Mara, Madanach, what have we done??”

“It’s gonna be fine,” Madanach murmured, rubbing her back. “She never even met Cailan, did she? Alistair might not even be her type. Also he’s elf-blooded, mage-blooded and infertile because of the taint. We get Leliana to spread that news, she’ll go off him.”

Elisif could only hope so. As it was, she glanced back at Alistair, suddenly worried. What if their attempts to save Orlais meant losing her boyfriend?

She knew saving the world wasn’t easy, but she’d not expected it to come at a cost this high.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Her Worship, Inquisitor Elisif, Herald of Andraste, Hero of Haven, Breaker of Storms, Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Redcliffe, and gifted with the Voice of the Maker!”

Behind Elisif, Madanach flinched, even as Sera hissed that was so not what happened. But Elisif was in no position to correct anything because they were making their way across the ballroom, all the eyes of the court upon them, about to be presented to Empress Celene.

“His Worship, Deputy Inquisitor Madanach, former Enchanter-General of the Mage-Guard, Leader of the Long March to Skyhold, Seneschal of Skyhold and the Inquisition!”

Every light in the room flickered, lightning flashing outside and thunder crashing through the room, eliciting a few shrieks from the more excitable Orlesians. Not a cloud to be seen outside, and Elisif could only roll her eyes.

“What,” Madanach muttered. “They think I’m a terrifying maleficar, I’m giving them a show. Don’t tell me they’re not a bit impressed.”

“Hush,” Elisif hissed. “Just stay close, and _stop_ with the illusions!”

“Should I not give you a halo then,” Madanach murmured and Elisif paused before taking his hand and tersely bringing him forward.

“Warden Alistair Theirin, Lost Prince of Ferelden, Hero of the Fifth Blight, and official paramour to Their Worships!”

“Oh gods,” Alistair whispered. That was all he needed, the entire court knowing. But they’d announced him and it was too late now. All he could do was grin and bear it and follow Elisif and Madanach, and as they arrived at the balcony where Celene was waiting, he fell into line alongside Madanach, whose free hand instinctively reached out for him.

Empress Celene had stepped forward, resplendent in a blue dress and thank goodness Elisif had gone for purple over blue because turning up in the same outfit as Celene would have been bad. As it was, it was just different enough – blonde hair elegantly coiffed, the Valmont mask covering half her face, a fashionable sunburst on her back, compared to Elisif in purple with gold trim, hair flowing down her back, no mask but her make-up subtly worked by skilled Inquisition personnel and advised on by Cicero and Vivienne both. Six year age difference between both, with Celene the elder. Celene an empress for over 20 years by this point, ruling alone with no husband… and no children. Elisif in charge of the upstart organisation, and who’d ruled as High Queen back home but only for seven years, and who did have a husband, and ruled with a huge amount of loyal infrastructure helping her and who was heir to an Empire not its ruler… but who had produced an heir of her own.

Elisif looked up at Celene and saw someone similar enough to feel a kinship with… but who was at a very different stage in her career, and who for all Elisif knew, would be more likely to see her as an upstart rival to be crushed than anything else.

She already knew Celene had been uncomfortable having the Inquisition here and might be interested in stealing her lover. But they were here to save her from the Venatori. So Elisif fixed a smile in place and waited while Gaspard argued with his cousin.

“Don’t waste my time with pleasantries, Celene,” Gaspard snapped. “We both know why we’re here.”

Celene had been offering honeyed words of welcome to him, but she broke off, face fleetingly frosty – what the mask showed of it anyway. 

“Very well, cousin. We will speak after we have seen to our other guests.”

Gaspard bowed and moved away and Imperial attention fell on Elisif.

“Greetings, Herald,” Celene said smoothly. If she felt threatened, she didn’t show it. “We are honoured to welcome the Inquisition to our masquerade. Your arrival is as a fresh breeze on a summer’s day.”

Oh hell. Elegant verbal fencing. Elisif hated this part with a fiery passion. She was a Nord. And Nords did not do well at this sort of thing. 

She dropped a curtsey to buy herself a few seconds of time, and it occurred to her the weather metaphor might be all too literal.

“They do call me the Breaker of Storms, Your Majesty,” Elisif replied. “We are here to ensure the storm doesn’t break on Halamshiral.”

Surprise in Celene’s eyes and was it Elisif's imagination or was she a little impressed.

“There was thunder earlier,” Celene remarked. “Most unseasonal this early in the year. I hope it is not a harbinger of foul weather to come.” Her eyes fell on Madanach, almost as if she knew who’d caused it, and Madanach wisely said nothing, just smiling innocently.

“If Her Majesty has built her shelter well, she will weather any storm, we’re sure,” Elisif said confidently. “We’re certainly very impressed with Halamshiral so far.”

All right, perhaps she wasn’t so bad at this. Perhaps all was going to be well after all. 

And then Celene turned her attention to Alistair, and the mask did not hide Celene’s smile or the little blush on her cheeks.

“And you are Warden Alistair. Brother of the late King Cailan. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, messere. Are you aware I was acquainted with your brother? Alas, I was never able to meet him in the flesh. If he looked like you, the portraits did not do him justice.”

Elisif tightened her grip on her husband, her mind grinding to a halt as she realised Gaspard wasn’t wrong. Celene had seen Alistair and seen something she liked.

_Kill her. Send Cicero in. Screw the Venatori. We can work with Gaspard instead._

Elisif closed her eyes, feeling cold rage, and it wasn’t just hers either, Madanach was likewise furious. How dare she start flirting with Alistair. How _dare_ she??

When Alistair spoke, his voice was soft but it carried, and there was no emotion there whatsoever.

“I’m afraid I barely knew King Cailan, Your Majesty. He seemed a good man, but despite sharing a father, we were never really brothers. I was always kept away from politics, and I’m happy to leave it to others. I’m here tonight because the Herald needs me… and because I just had to see the Winter Palace for myself, it’s very shiny, isn’t it? If you see me staring around like some slack-jawed yokel, that’s because I am in fact that very thing, and my sole purpose here is to look pretty on the Herald’s arm. Your Majesty.”

Elisif bit back a smile at Alistair being so very Alistair, and Madanach’s anger seemed to have subsided… at least until Celene actually giggled, before rapidly composing herself.

“We are sure you’re a man of far more talents than that, Messere,” Celene said, still smiling sweetly at him. “We look forward to seeing more of you.”

Alistair laughed nervously, clearly not remotely comfortable with this situation, but lacking any standing whatsoever to either stop it or flee the scene… and Elisif realised with dawning horror that she didn’t have it either. It wasn’t a situation she was familiar with, not these days. 

Mercifully Celene had moved on, turning to bring her companion forward. An older woman with a warrior’s short hair and looking ill at ease indeed in her formal gown – but behind the Chalons mask, she seemed to be smiling.

“We are pleased to introduce our cousin Florianne de Chalons, without whom this gathering would not have been possible. It is thanks to her efforts we were able to persuade our cousin the Grand Duke to meet for talks.”

Gaspard’s younger sister, and she was watching Elisif with no little interest.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Herald,” Florianne said, amused at something. “I was not aware the Inquisition would be forming part of this gathering. We shall certainly have to talk later.”

That did not bode well. But at least they were dismissed. Elisif bowed and made her way off the dance floor, reaching for Alistair’s hand. She’d only just got here and already she wanted to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Illusions from Madanach to make them look self-assured and calm, and then it was out into the vestibule, where Elisif could sit down with a glass of wine from one of the servants, and her partners either side of her, Madanach next to her and Alistair perched on the arm of the chaise longue. And Leliana there, unsmiling as she knelt in front of them.

“Herald. Are you all right?” Leliana was asking.

“No!” Elisif gasped. “No I’m not all right. She was chatting up Alistair!”

She squeezed Alistair’s hand, feeling close to crying. Madanach had moved closer, arm round her shoulders while his other hand rested on her knee.

“Well, she’s not having him and Alistair’s not interested anyway, are you, love?” Madanach said, looking for Alistair to reassure them on this.

“Not remotely,” Alistair said, shivering. “I knew there’d been talk of an alliance during the Blight and Lyra and I knew Cailan might have had a bit of a crush, but he was king! I’m not! And I thought Celene had moved on with her elven lady friend??”

“I’d have left you at Skyhold if I’d known,” Elisif said, glaring at Leliana. “Did you know?? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I knew there’d been something, but I didn’t realise she’d still be carrying a torch!” Leliana sighed. “All my information focused on her more recent affair with Briala, I didn’t know she’d still have feelings for Cailan after so long! She never even met him!”

“Ferelden will be on her mind due to the Separation, and if Briala left her, she might seize on someone else,” Elisif snapped. “Gods, Leliana, what if she does ask for Alistair as her husband?? We need Orlais’s help to fight Corypheus!”

“Do we?” Madanach asked, tilting his head. “If we had to forego Orlais’s help, would we manage? I’m not talking victory here. I’m talking holding things together until Tamriel arrive. Once the Empire’s in the mix, everything changes anyway.”

“If Corypheus attacks Orlais with a demon army, Celene will have a pressing and personal interest in stopping it. She will not be making demands, she will be desperate for our help,” Leliana said, placing a hand on Elisif’s knee. “Elisif, don’t fret. We aren’t here to beg for Orlesian help, we’re here to save Celene from a Venatori assassin. We focus on that, on unravelling the conspiracy, and whoever is in charge after will likely be all too keen to help us. One thing at a time.”

“Whoever is in charge?” Madanach asked, having picked up on that one. “It might not be Celene?”

“Celene wouldn’t be having these talks if her throne was secure,” Leliana said, shrugging. “We should prepare for the possibility of having to deal with Gaspard instead.”

Elisif hadn’t expected that… but having met him, he didn’t seem so bad. For an Orlesian anyway. They might be able to work with him… but so much depended on how the Game played out. Still, Leliana had a point. Tonight was about stopping the Venatori, nothing else.

“Pretty Elisif!” 

Cicero had skipped into view, fresh from having been presented to Celene himself. What as, Elisif was almost afraid to ask.

“Oh, Cicero said he was the Inquisitor’s personal duellist,” Cicero said cheerfully. “Herald is the only one who can seal the rifts, we cannot risk her life on unnecessary trifles. And yet slights to her honour cannot go unavenged. So Cicero fights duels on her behalf. At least, that is what Cicero is saying. It is an honourable profession. Cicero doesn’t see a problem.”

“Does chatting up the Inquisitor’s boyfriend count as a slight?” Madanach asked, glancing at Alistair. Cicero, who’d overheard Celene talking to Alistair and Gaspard informing Elisif of Celene’s past with Cailan, sighed wearily.

“Reach-King. Cicero cannot stab Empress Celene. We are trying to save her from stabbing, not do Corypheus’s work for him.”

Then he glanced at Elisif, whose face must have given away her feelings, because she didn’t remotely feel forgiving over this.

“ _Are_ we still trying to save Celene from the Venatori?” Cicero purred, and the possibility of a change in priorities didn’t seem to bother him at all.

Elisif shivered, forced a smile to her face and finally met Cicero’s eyes.

“We save Celene, if we can,” Elisif said, although part of her was screaming _no, put Gaspard in charge instead, he won’t steal your boyfriend._ “We’re here to restore order. That means not destabilising Orlais when it most needs to be united.”

Cicero said nothing, just blinking for a few moments. Then he nodded and bowed.

“A stable Orlais. Celene ideally saved. Cicero understands.”

Elisif hoped so, because she’d never been so uncertain about anything.

“So what leads do we have?” Elisif asked, desperate to change the subject. “Gaspard said Briala had agents all over the palace but that’s not really a surprise under the circumstances.”

“She’s up to something but she can’t be our focus,” Leliana said, frowning. “No, the best place to strike at Celene is from her side. Did you know she has a magical advisor? Not Vivienne. Celene found an apostate mage who can answer questions no Circle mage could. She always was fascinated by the arcane.”

“Wait, does that mean blood magic?” Madanach interrupted. “How the hell is Empress Celene getting away with keeping one of them at court??”

“All mages are now apostate, Madanach. The word has lost much of its sting,” Leliana told him. “Nevertheless, she’s worth investigating. I’ve had dealings with her before. She’s a ruthless woman. We don’t know what she might try. She has a library in the guest wing. It’s worth investigating.”

Elisif nodded at Cicero, who squeaked and ran off to find Sera and investigate. It was one lead, certainly. But they all knew it wouldn't be that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, the set up's done and the quest is under way. Next up is the various bits of scurrying around this quest requires, which you have to do in person in game... but when you've got an entire squad at your disposal, you can delegate an awful lot. I also took some of the investigations from the end of the quest and moved them forward. More interesting that way.


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Palace is full of secrets and there's not a soul there who isn't up to something. Unravelling all the intrigues is going to take all the Inquisition's resources... but the Inquisition has resources at its disposal and will stop at nothing to achieve its goals. If that means a certain Tevinter mage has to sacrifice his dignity in the process, well, sacrifices have to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still here? Excellent. This one clears out a few canon aspects and starts really drawing things together. Except I brought the Royal Wing exploration forward because I have something Much More Exciting planned for the endgame and don't need this in the way, so here it is. There's Borkul and Josie off adventuring, and babysitting Josie's little sister who didn't want to be left out. There's Madanach and Dorian being heretical magebros on their own investigations (when not mercilessly dissing each other's outfits) (Madanach's ridiculous shoes are going to be a running joke, I can tell...), and something that is only suggested in canon, but I was able to make happen. Finally, there's Cicero and Sera off sneaking round and poking into other people's stuff, because why does the Inquisitor need to do it all, eh? Answer: she doesn't, and so a lot of the running around has been delegated.

Well, this was as painful as Borkul had expected. At least he’d not had to be formally presented to Celene. There were perks of being an Orc. 

But he was here, in a uniform, feeling out of place and not knowing how to deal with a situation where conflict was going on all the time but none of it involving warhammers. At least Josie was here, in her own uniform… talking to a young woman with the same Antivan accent and brown skin Josie had.

“You always take their side!” the young woman cried, sounding very frustrated. 

“I do not always take their side,” Josephine snapped. “I just happen to think, as they do, that you could take more of an interest in the estate’s affairs.”

“Ugh, I’m not even heir, that should be your job!” the woman – girl, really – cried, throwing up her hands. “I need time to do my art!”

Josephine was looking increasingly frustrated.

“Have you even finished a piece yet,” Josephine sighed.

“I must wait for my inspiration,” the young woman said, after the merest pause which clearly meant no. Borkul rolled his eyes, because he knew damn well art did not work like that. He knew that from talking to the artists who’d done the mural in Maia’s room… and from talking to Varric, who’d admitted the writing process was about ten per cent inspired creativity, and ninety per cent hard graft trying to make a piece work. Oh, and dealing with publishers.

“Hey Josie. Who’s your friend?”

Josie immediately flushed and the woman went pink, giggling as she looked him over.

“Ooh, is this the Tal-Vashoth? Senor Borkul? You did not tell me he was so… tall!”

Dear gods. Someone else with a fetish. Once, Borkul might have gone for it anyway… but she was young and silly and too much hassle, and now he looked closely, underneath the mask she looked a little like Josephine. She was certainly Antivan rather than Orlesian.

“ _Yvette!_ ” Josephine hissed. “Sieur Borkul, I am sorry. This is my younger sister Yvette who has, despite my warnings, decided to attend tonight.”

“Josie! You are always saying I don’t get out and socialise enough!” Yvette cried. “Anyway I didn’t want to come. Mother made me. But I did so want to see Halamshiral! It has the finest collection of art anywhere! And its gardens are so darling, I just had to get out my parchment.”

The artwork was impressive, Borkul had to give it that. From the gilded frames to the ornate ceiling murals, no part of the palace had been left undecorated. Borkul hadn’t been able to stop staring at it all. In fact…

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. So, you know a bit about art, right? Why don’t we skip the ballroom and go look at some of it? You can tell me what it all means.”

Yvette actually squealed and was all set to go wandering off with him… until Josephine stopped them.

“Yvette, you can’t just wander off on your own with an unmarried man! People will talk!”

Yvette protested, but it was the pout from Borkul that actually made her waver. Apparently sad eyes on an Orc had a way of undermining her resolve.

“You could come?” Borkul offered. “I’d like to have you along! And nobody’s gonna notice. They’re all checking out the Herald and her men. All speculating on if Celene’s chat-up lines are gonna work. Short answer: no, and if Celene doesn’t cut it out, Elisif’s gonna make her wish the Venatori got to her first.”

“Borkul!” Josephine hissed. “Keep your voice down! Who knows who might be listening?? Ugh, all right, we shall slip away. For a brief time, and then we will return.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

All right. They were lost. The palace had so many twists and turns, and doors that looked sealed had opened anyway, and Yvette had slipped in before anyone could stop her and… this part of the palace was definitely not open to the public.

“Where are we?” Borkul had to ask.

“I don’t know but aren’t these gardens pretty!” Yvette gasped.

“I don’t know either but… are we in the royal wing??” Josephine cried. “This part of the palace is supposed to be off-limits! Andraste, Celene’s personal bedchamber is in here!”

Even Borkul knew this was a bad idea.

“All right, we start looking out for a way back to the party. I mean, we did get our art tour. We sneak back now, no one’ll have noticed.”

“It’s this way. I can help you.”

Yvette shrieked and even Josephine gasped, and Borkul spun round to see Cole there, without the hat for once and looking most uncomfortable in his Inquisition uniform.

“Cole, what the hell!” Borkul snapped.

“Cole, what have I told you about _lurking!_ ” Josephine cried. Cole did look a little apologetic at that point.

“Sorry,” he said, voice soft but still echoing a little in the darkened marble hall. “I wasn’t sure you wanted me here… but you do need me. There’s secrets hidden here. You’ll need help.”

Yvette was staring at him, fascinated. 

“Do you know him, Josie?” she asked. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“He’s a… he works for the Inquisition,” was all Josie was prepared to say on that. “Cole, can you get us back to the party unseen?”

“Yes,” Cole whispered. “After we do what we need to. That way.”

He pointed up ahead, to where a staircase led upwards through a dimly lit corridor filled with scaffolding. It looked like someone was redecorating.

“Odd time to renovate, while you’re at war,” Borkul remarked.

“They say Gaspard attacked with catapults,” Yvette whispered. “How monstrous, to fire on the Winter Palace!”

Borkul rolled his eyes, wondering if Orlais in general and Yvette in particular needed the realities of war explaining to them, and that refraining from firing on the enemy stronghold was spectacularly missing the point… and then it occurred to him the Winter Palace looked remarkably intact for a building that had had catapults lobbing rocks at it.

“It wasn’t catapults,” Cole whispered. “A man died. They paint over the blood, but the Veil remembers.”

“Oh! How awful!” Yvette whispered, but she sounded fascinated. “Was it… the Game?”

“Not this time,” Cole whispered back. “An outsider to Orlais, mage versus mage, here to cause harm but the Empress’s witch found him first.”

“How _exciting!_ ” Yvette enthused. Borkul closed his eyes and offered up a prayer to Malacath to save Yvette from herself, and them from her. He didn’t trust her not to go running into a fight just because it was exciting and get them all killed.

_I am getting Josie out of here if it goes tits up. If it’s Yvette’s fault, I’m fucking leaving her behind._

Well. Maybe not. Josie wouldn’t like it if he didn’t try and save her sister as well – wait, was that Cole, messing with his head?

Borkul turned angrily to Cole and then they all heard it. The sound of a Fade rift behind one of the doors.

“Ooh, what is it?” Yvette gasped, making for the door. Borkul promptly grabbed her and hauled her away.

“It’s a Fade rift,” Borkul snapped. “No, we’re not investigating. We got no way of sealing it, I ain’t got my weapons anyhow, and you two can’t even fight. We come back later with Elisif and sort it out then.”

“Can I watch then?” Yvette asked eagerly.

“No!” Borkul shouted, this close to losing his temper… until he saw the horrified look on Josie’s face and realised he probably shouldn’t shout at her sister, should he. “I mean, no, it’ll be Elisif leading the party, it’s her decision, not mine, now let’s move!”

Away from the Fade rift, into a better lit and more civilised part of the palace… until the screaming started. A woman, crying for help. Borkul barely hesitated, even as Josephine cried out to him to do something. Sprinting forward, he raced into the bedroom where one of those creepy masked Harlequins was standing over a terrified elf. Alas for the Harlequin, she wasn’t trained to react to a full-size Orc warrior charging at her, and the impact sent her flying out of the window. Job done, elf safe, Yvette squealing with excitement and Josephine on the floor, telling the elf she was safe now and was she all right?

“Yes. Thank you, madame,” the elf whispered. “You and… that is the Inquisition’s Tal-Vashoth, isn’t he?”

Borkul nodded, inclining his head. “Yeah, that’s me. Kicking assassins out the window is all in a day’s work.”

“Thank you, messere, I owe you my life!” the elf gasped. “If I had known what was waiting for me in here, I never would have come!”

“What did you think was waiting for you?” Josephine asked. “And how did you get in here, this wing is supposed to be sealed.”

“The door was unlocked,” the elf said, shrugging. “I thought one of the others had handled it. I just had orders at the drop point, saying to come here.”

“Who from – are you one of Briala’s?” Josephine asked, and the elf confirmed it.

“I should have known it was a trap,” the elf continued bitterly. “Briala never trusted me. It’s because I know the truth about her – everyone thinks she’s a hero but I know she was sleeping with the Empress who purged our alienage!”

A reason to kill indeed. 

“Are you sure those orders came from her,” Josephine was saying. “That they’d not been tampered with?”

“I’m sure,” the elf whispered, although Borkul didn’t miss the hesitation. So the elf couldn’t be completely sure.

“All right then,” Josephine said, her voice gentle and kind. “Leave here and find Leliana in the ballroom. Tell her I sent you and you have information about Ambassador Briala and will share it in exchange for protection. She will keep you safe.”

The elf fled, all too pleased to be out of there, and Borkul helped Josephine up.

“Well? Do you think it was really Briala who sent her?” Borkul asked. Josephine just shrugged.

“I don’t know. Drop points can be targeted, orders intercepted… and tampered with. We know the Venatori are present and that they would benefit from interfering with Briala’s operations. We also know Briala’s leadership would be threatened if it were confirmed she was Celene’s former lover.”

“But?” Borkul asked, sensing one coming.

“But I believe Briala is a capable enough politician to survive it, and her people do not have an alternative candidate for leadership that I’m aware of,” Josephine said thoughtfully. “She is Celene’s former lover, not her current one, and many elves have experienced being not-so-willing paramours of Orlesian nobility. I believe she could survive the scandal. What might bring her down is one of her own agents believing Briala was willing to have her killed over it and speaking out. Whether Briala sent those orders, I don’t know. I suspect she likely did not. But all it would take is her movement believing she did. Either way, Leliana knows the spy game better than I. She can evaluate the situation, and it will give us a hold over Briala. It could come in useful.”

Cunning. Very cunning. Borkul had to admit he was impressed. But then, he’d always known Josephine was bright.

“There’s another,” Cole whispered, managing to appear right at his elbow again, and damnit, he’d GOT to stop doing that!

“Sorry,” Cole said. “But there’s another one to help. Over there.” He pointed outside, and Josephine and Borkul followed his gaze.

He was pointing at another door, sealed this time, and Josephine gasped, horrified.

“No. Oh no! That’s Celene’s own bedroom, we cannot…!”

And then they heard it. Cries from within Celene’s room. A man crying for help.

“The door is sealed, I can’t pick it,” Cole said matter of factly. “You’ll need these.”

He turned around and picked up five halla statues. Where he’d got them from, Borkul had no idea but if they worked…

Moments later and the door to Celene’s bedroom was opening. The cries turned out to be coming from a naked man tied to the bed, and Josephine promptly shrieked, turning away and dragging Yvette with her despite Yvette’s protestations.

Borkul grinned, winked at Cole (who didn’t get it at all but never mind) and went up to ask the questions.

“This… this is not what it looks like,” the man gasped. “I wish it were but...”

It turned out he was one of Gaspard’s chevaliers who Celene had seduced, tied up and then left there, after having got out of him the vital information that Gaspard was only playing along with the masquerade up to a point. In reality, he was fully intending to launch an attack and seize the throne by force if things didn’t go his way… and Celene knew that and had made her own plans to stop the attack and arrest him for treason and truce-breaking.

Borkul untied the man, found him his clothes and sent him off to share his information with Cullen. Inquisition troops would need to be on standby in preparation for this – while he didn’t think Gaspard was in league with the Venatori, there was a very good chance whoever was might use that as a cover for the assassination, and he told Josephine this once the man had gone.

“I don’t doubt it,” Josephine said, shivering. “Gaspard would not have invited us if he was working for Corypheus, it would be far easier to sideline us rather than bring us here and risk us interfering. But I also didn’t think he’d try to take the throne by force if the talks failed. And Celene knows and is still pressing on with the masquerade rather than just arresting him? Borkul, the intrigue is getting ridiculous.”

“Eh, maybe she doesn’t have enough evidence to make the charges stick,” Borkul said, shrugging. “But he already declared war over the throne. You do that, you don’t stop to play by the rules. Of course he’s going to attack if he doesn’t get his way. Time-honoured tradition that, invite your enemy to a party then attack.”

“It’s barbaric,” Josephine said, shuddering. “But… it tells me Gaspard is not involved with the Venatori plot – indeed, neither could know if they’re both still obsessed with their own fight. If he knew an assassination was planned, he wouldn't be planning to invade, he’d let it happen and capitalise on the chaos, taking the throne himself in the wake of the murder, and Orlais would follow him. They’d cling to anyone promising stability. But Madanach’s notes say that’s not what happened. Celene died, Gaspard didn’t take the throne, Orlais fell. Whoever is behind this, they intend to sideline Gaspard too somehow.”

“So we need to tell Elisif and the boss,” Borkul realised. “Dunno what they’ll make of all this.”

“Indeed,” Josephine sighed. “This tells us who is not behind the plot… but not who is.” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Madanach meanwhile was taking a tour of the Hall of Heroes with Dorian. Elisif had gone off to mingle and do the social butterfly thing, taking Alistair with her, because neither of them wanted to leave him alone tonight if they could avoid it. But Madanach was seizing on any excuse to put off having to talk to Orlesians, and so he was having a look round, and Dorian had offered his own company.

“Feeling out of place?” Madanach asked, all sympathy. Couldn’t be easy being a Tevinter in the midst of the traditional rivals’ heartland.

“Oh you know me, Madanach,” Dorian said cheerfully, resplendent in a wraparound black silk tunic with gold trim and a gold dragon embroidered on the back, and a plunging neckline that showed off a perfectly waxed chest. “I’m not exactly built to fit in.”

“We offered you a uniform, Dorian,” Madanach said, eyeing up the outfit. “You could have gone for the conservative option.”

Dorian shuddered, looking revolted.

“Never,” he said emphatically. “Besides, here you are in what is essentially a skirt. A _skirt_. And look at it, it’s scandalous, you can see your calves and everything.”

“What of it? I have nice calves!” Madanach protested.

“I have nice buttocks, but it’s not done to show them off at a fancy party, Madanach,” Dorian said, reaching out to take Madanach’s arm as Madanach attempted to navigate a marble staircase in his two-inch heels. “Maker’s sake, Madanach, you are going to kill yourself in those heels if you’re not careful.”

“How the fuck is Cicero managing in his fucking stiletto boots,” Madanach muttered. Cicero’s boots had super-pointy three-inch heels and needless to say he was walking perfectly in them. Damn him.

“Because he is a highly-trained assassin with a sense of balance and poise that the rest of us can only envy,” Dorian told him, helping him down the stairs and settling him on a nearby chaise. “Meanwhile here you are indulging your vanity with shoes you can barely walk in and a black leather skirt that is bordering on fetish wear.”

“How do you know it’s not,” Madanach purred, and Dorian put his head in his hands.

“Madanach, I swear, you are incorrigible,” Dorian sighed. “Well, if you wanted the whole court to think you’re some sort of degenerate pervert, you’re succeeding. You should just be thankful most of them appreciate that sort of thing. You’re just about managing to come across as an exotic barbarian of the wilds and therefore interesting as opposed to scandalous.”

“Story of my life,” Madanach sighed, recalling his first visit to the Imperial Court in Cyrodiil. Barely concealed looks of disapproval from a lot of them… but a great many people also very curious about the Reach and therefore finding him fascinating. Something very similar was going on here, Madanach was sure. “I’m used to it by now. Anyway, this lot need scandalising.”

“Hah! Give me a dozen silk scarves and I’ll show you a dance that’ll _really_ shock them,” Dorian said smugly, and while Madanach had no intention of taking on any new partners, part of him really did want to see that.

“Be careful or I will take you up on it,” Madanach purred. 

Dorian didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“Be careful or I’ll do it,” Dorian told him, archly raising an eyebrow, and Madanach burst out laughing, and Dorian promptly joined him, both men spending a good few minutes laughing before composing themselves. Madanach patted Dorian on the back.

“Oh gods, Dorian, I am so glad you’re here,” Madanach sighed. “I can’t stay glued to Elisif’s side all night, it’s not the done thing to actually spend time with your spouse at these things. But it’s nice to have a friend to talk to.”

Dorian smiled, squeezed Madanach’s knee and then leaned back into the chaise, idly looking around him at the marble statuary of Orlais’ finest.

“Oh don’t mention it, between the plotting, intrigue, scheming, politics and assassination attempts, it’s just like home,” Dorian said. “I’m expecting my mother to turn up any second and start berating me.”

“She’s not invited, is she?” Madanach said, alarmed. He hoped not anyway. That would be awkward.

“Heavens no. You’d be short one Tevinter mage if she is though, after she’s dragged me out by the ear. Believe it or not, my father is the reasonable one.”

Madanach lost any desire he’d ever had to meet Lady Pavus. 

“Not if I had anything to do with it. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. No one’s dragging you out of here in a hurry.”

A pause and was it Madanach’s imagination or did he look a little embarrassed? Yes, there it was, Dorian had definitely gone a bit pink, hunching his shoulders a bit and staring at the griffin statue memorialising the Grey Wardens.

“That’s remarkably sweet of you, old chap,” Dorian said eventually. “But you really don’t need to challenge my mother to a magister’s duel over me, you know. It’s enough you hit my father.”

“And I would do it again,” Madanach promised, placing a hand on Dorian’s back. “I didn’t do so well at protecting my kids from their own mother. But I can protect you if you need it.”

Dorian glanced shyly at him and smiled.

“Stop it,” Dorian told him. “Or I’ll end up hugging you and that’s just going to embarrass us both. Now. I’m availing myself of one of these fine Orlesian wines that are being passed around – I say, excuse me!”

The passing elven servant glared at him.

“We are not serving drinks. Bother someone else.” 

She moved on, falling into step behind another elf, both of them glaring at Dorian before disappearing into a quiet corner.

“Rather rude,” Dorian commented. “Do you think it’s normal for elven servants at the Orlesian royal court to speak like that to guests?”

“No,” Madanach murmured. “No, they wouldn’t. Bet they’re Briala’s agents. Come on, let’s listen in.”

One illusion spell later, and Madanach and Dorian had followed, concealing themselves behind a statue of Hessarian and eavesdropping on the frantic whispering.

“...hasn’t made the pick-up! It’s been hours!”

“What, the one on the balcony?”

More whispers then…

“Servants’ wing… one off the garden… upper room… statuette.”

The agents moved away and the conversation was done. Madanach released the spell and turned back to Dorian.

“Someone is interfering with Briala’s operations,” Madanach said, thinking this over. “I don’t understand the rest, but a room off the garden, an upper room, that’s got something in it. And something about the servants’ wing.”

“The door to which is just over there,” Dorian noted. “Shall we?”

The door turned out to be locked, which was probably just as well. 

“Never mind, we’ve got other leads,” Madanach said quietly. “A pick-up didn’t happen, shall we see what was supposed to get passed on?”

And so Madanach and Dorian discreetly scoured the balconies to see if anything was left lying around, stopping briefly to say hello to Elisif, who was sympathising with a furious attache whose colleague had disappeared to the servants’ wing to roll some serving maid and not been seen since, and Alistair who’d got talking to one of the Council of Heralds of all people and managed not to offend him. And on the small balcony just off the far end of the guest wing, Dorian retrieved a cylinder with a message and the details of various people who’d gone to the servants wing and not returned, and a plea for Briala to send support down there.

“And the agent meant to be picking this up has been compromised which means help’s not coming,” Madanach growled. “Not unless we can get down there. For which we need a key.”

Now who might know someone with a key to the servants’ wing and be trusted enough to be able to get it for them.

“Come on, I saw Sera and Cicero skimming those Caprice coins on the fountain in the garden,” Madanach said, taking Dorian's arm. “Let’s see what Friends can get us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Sera and Cicero were indeed mooching around the fountain, already looking fed up. Not a good sign.

“Please tell me you two aren’t bored already,” Dorian sighed. “Aren’t there nobles to annoy? Insects to sneak into ladies’ hats? Chairs to sabotage? Feuds to start by telling them someone else said something about their outfit? So much trouble to cause and you’re not doing any of it?”

“We are trying!” Cicero whined, wringing his hands. “We are trying to get into the library to find information on the Empress’s pet apostate, but the doors in the palace are barred!”

“It’s all good though, cause there’s an entrance up there on the balcony, and if that lot were to look the other way for five minutes, I could shin up the trellis like no one, but there’s a ton of people here and they keep looking over here! Because of that poxy Caprice game where you’re seen chucking money away!” Sera had her arms folded, glaring mutinously.

“Unless a talented illusion mage were to cause a… distraction? Make us… unobtrusive?” Cicero purred, fluttering his eyelashes. Given his outfit for tonight involved a silk shirt with a purple cravat, matching frock coat, nugskin breeches, far too much rouge and the aforementioned stiletto boots with the pointy toes, this would take some doing. But it might be doable.

“Perhaps,” Madanach murmured. “I need something investigating as well and it’s up there too. There’s an upper room up there, and something about a statuette, I need it checking out. And when you’re done up there, Sera, if you have any friends here tonight, see if you can get the key for the servants’ wing off one of them. Something’s going on down there, we need to get access.”

“We need to get up there first,” Sera said, glancing up. “Get us up there and I’ll ask. I can tell you there’s one cache in that alcove over there for free.”

Madanach could certainly cast spells to mask their presence but they relied heavily on the subject remaining unobtrusive. Climbing up a trellis would likely break it, unless the spell was really powerful – but then someone would likely see him casting it. Perhaps a more mundane distraction was in order… and then Madanach recalled his conversation with Dorian earlier.

“Oh, I’ve got a distraction all right,” Madanach purred, patting Dorian on the shoulder. “Just get me a dozen silk scarves.”

“Wait, what – no. Oh no,” Dorian protested. “You cannot be serious – I was joking! You’re not seriously suggesting...”

“I can cast spells of cloaking but they only work if the subject is being stealthy, climbing a trellis isn’t stealthy,” Madanach said, looking far far too pleased with himself. “We need a mundane distraction. You said to be careful or you’d do it. So here I am not being.”

“You don’t think your wife and lover won’t object to you watching me doing a striptease??” Dorian hissed, and Madanach conceded that one at least.

“Good point. Cicero, Elisif’s got a shawl on. Find her first and ask if we can borrow hers. Round up Alistair as well. He won’t be very far away from her, although frankly he’s doing better than I thought – last we saw, he was telling various admirers that he wasn’t available but Cullen was single and very very lonely and in need of company.”

“Wait, are you saying if we find these scarves, Dorian’s gonna get his kit off? Ewww!” Sera had started giggling, managing to look revolted and pleased at the same time.

Cicero by contrast looked delighted.

“Give Cicero ten minutes, he will have half the dowagers in the place in here,” Cicero cackled, already scampering off in search of an audience, Sera in hot pursuit. It didn’t take long before a crowd of onlookers had gathered, mostly men of all ages and dowagers (including The Dowager, the much-widowed leader of the Council of Heralds, although Madanach would not find that out until later) and married women, although a few of the younger women had managed to escape their chaperones long enough to linger on the edges. 

And at the front, Elisif and Alistair.

“I’m not sure I want to see this,” Alistair whispered to Elisif.

“Don’t worry, you can hide your eyes in my shoulder if you want,” Elisif whispered, patting his arm, and given that the donated shawl now meant Elisif's cleavage was on show, Alistair found he didn’t mind quite so much. Elisif meanwhile had turned her attention to Madanach.

“Madanach, what on earth is going on? Cicero was saying something about Dorian wearing scarves and doing some sort of dance?” 

Cicero and Sera had stripped Dorian’s top off and were arranging the scarves, and Madanach had been having a discussion with the bard on backing music. Finishing up he came to greet Elisif with a kiss on the cheek.

“We need a distraction so Cicero and Sera can investigate the library,” he whispered in her ear, and while Elisif quietly dreaded what this was going to do to the Inquisition’s reputation (Josie was going to have a fit, although Leliana had turned up and looked like she was fully intending to enjoy the show), she saw the need. She just hoped this didn’t get them thrown out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero and Sera had finished their work, everyone falling silent and the music starting up, and the Dance of the Dozen Veils began. And it nearly failed before it started, with Cicero quite forgetting he was supposed to be disappearing… at least until Madanach pointedly nudged him and Sera dragged him off, and the two of them shinned up the trellis, the noise being covered by the clapping and wolf-whistling from the Orlesian crowd.

“Right, what was he after?” Sera whispered “Upper room… statuette… one of those halla doors, fuck. We don’t have one.”

Cicero glanced around… and saw the silhouette of a halla on the far balcony.

“Wait here,” Cicero whispered, and moments later he was back with the halla, and the door was swinging open.

Inside the room were several dead Orlesian nobles and a note from Gaspard to Celene telling her the real threat was Briala and some weapon she had that could turn the tide of any war.

“Briala has a secret weapon! Wonder what it is,” Cicero cooed, even as Sera was staring at all the bodies.

“You’re not bothered by the fact her agents stabbed a load of people – no, course you’re not,” Sera sighed. “Gaspard and Celene were having secret negotiations that could have stopped a war and Briala’s buggered them up so as to string things out, cos if they patch things up, they’ll start going for her.”

Cicero didn’t even break his smile for a second.

“Yes! Cunning, isn’t it? Sera is a fast learner at politics!”

“Ugh! It’s horrible, is what it is!” Sera cried. “I mean, I know this lot were nobles, so probably pricks, but keeping a war going so you can profit off it is wrong!”

“Indeed,” Cicero said, pocketing the letter. “It will make Briala look like a terrible person. Inquisitor will be very interested.”

“Ugh,” Sera shuddered, fed up with political intrigue already. “Come on, let’s search the library, find out if this apostate’s up to anything. Hope she’s not in.”

The library room turned out to be just that – shelves of books and some urns on plinths… until Sera noticed a book that looked wrong. It turned out to be carved wood… and it turned out to be a lever that opened a secret door to the apostate’s secret office.

“All right, I’m not going in there,” Sera said, backing away. “She’s got creepy not-fire in there! You search it, I’ll do the rest of the library.”

And so Sera ran off, searching the shelves and storerooms and finding various bits of loot and blackmail material… and no noise from Cicero. Odd. Sera came back to see what he’d been up to and found him perched on the desk, grimfaced as he read through a bookmarked and annotated copy of the latest Varric Tethras novel, _Rise of the Dragonborn_. 

“Hey! Knifey! I found a load of loot in the library! You got anything?” Sera glanced at the book, wondering why Cicero was so interested in it. It wasn’t like he didn’t have his own signed copy back at Skyhold.

Cicero marked his place with a letter he’d picked up from the desk and closed the book, swiftly forcing a grin to his face.

“Nothing, Sera! Nothing at all,” Cicero lied, scampering out with his manic grin back in place. “Only the witch’s copy of _Rise of the Dragonborn_. It’s got occult notes in it. Cicero’s taking it for Madanach to look at. Otherwise nothing.”

“Right. Nothing.” Sera was near certain Cicero was hiding something but she wasn’t going to insist on looking at the book herself just in case it really was some sort of occult trap. 

“Cicero also thinks if we use veilfire on those urns in the right order it opens a passage,” Cicero cooed. “Shall we investigate?”

Now that got Sera’s attention.

“All right, but you’re carrying the fire,” Sera told him. Cicero grinned, lit a veilfire torch and scampered into the main chamber. They had a puzzle to solve.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Applause all round the garden as the Dance of the Dozen Veils reached its climax, to much cheering and whistling and only a few ladies getting the vapours and fainting. And then it was left to Alistair to help Dorian retrieve his clothes and his dignity, while Madanach gathered the scarves and started passing them back to their squealing owners… one of whom turned out to be the Dowager herself, who while not exactly squealing, was certainly congratulating Madanach on the whole thing and asking him to convey her regards to the young Tevinter.

And Elisif was left fanning herself, glancing round to see if this had actually done them any harm. Given the number of people who seemed in quite a good mood, she judged it probably a net gain. Probably.

And then she saw three young women in less ornate versions of Celene’s Valmont mask, all heading towards her, looking very excited about something. She had a feeling from all the nudging that it wasn’t down to Dorian either.

“Is there something I can help you with, ladies?” she asked, certain they’d been looking at her. It turned out she wasn’t wrong. The three of them clustered round her, all gazing up at her adoringly, before dropping synchronised curtsies.

“Greetings, Inquisitor,” the lead one said. “Allow us to introduce ourselves. We three are the handmaidens of the Empress, Lady Fleur, Lady Colombe and myself, Lady Couteau. We bring a message from Her Majesty.”

It had better not involve Alistair, was all Elisif could think. But she indicated for them to continue.

“The Empress is an ardent admirer of the Inquisition,” Lady Couteau told her. “She wishes to offer any and all assistance Orlais can provide in defeating Corypheus.”

A generous offer, if Elisif trusted it. Which she didn’t.

“And is there a price for this support?” Elisif asked. There was always a price.

“Oh no!” Couteau protested. “This support comes free of charge. The Empress sees the danger. Corypheus is a threat to us all. However, while the war rages, her hands are tied and she will not be able to assist as she would like. But when Gaspard is dealt with and her throne secured, she will be more than happy to help.”

In other words, help Celene sort her rival out and she’d help the Inquisition. Par for the course, really. She supposed she should be relieved Celene wasn’t bringing Alistair up.

And then the man himself turned up, only blanching a little on seeing the Valmont masks.

“Hello! Dorian’s dressed now, you can all look. Unless you were earlier, of course. Maker knows I wasn’t.”

Giggling from the three ladies, who all immediately flocked to Alistair’s side, crowding round him.

“Prince Alistair! It is a pleasure to meet you, messere!”

“You are even more handsome up close!”

“Have you killed a lot of darkspawn? You must have had so many adventures!”

Alistair laughed nervously, eyes meeting Elisif’s, clearly screaming on the inside.

“Oh, I’m not really a prince, Queen Anora’s made that very clear, and I’d love to say I had some good stories but to be honest, the Blight’s not the stuff of legends, it was mostly horrific. Elisif’s a lot more interesting. She’s killed dragons!”

The ladies did at least acknowledge her at this point, bowing and distancing themselves.

“We will not take up any more of your time,” Couteau said as they curtsied in unison. 

“Enjoy the masquerade!” Fleur added, and then all three swept away. Well. That was awkward.

“They’re Celene’s ladies-in-waiting,” Elisif explained. “Apparently Celene is willing to help us once her throne is secure. I have a feeling she expects us to help with that.”

“Fat chance,” Alistair said, shivering. “Don’t think I didn’t notice them dropping you like a stone when I showed up. Honestly, Celene needs to get it into her skull I’m spoken for. Maybe we’re not married, but I’m your declared paramour, surely that counts for something?”

Not in the Game if there were politics riding on it, Elisif was sure, and regardless of if it was just a lonely Empress on the rebound wanting to rekindle an old romance by proxy, or something more sinister going on, Elisif was not pleased.

They were here to save Celene’s life. That was all. Anything else… well. That was entirely up for negotiation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madanach and Dorian were originally intended to be a couple before Alistair decided he wanted in on the scruffy apostate action instead. Something of that was coming through here, so I transmuted into a mutual recognition that perhaps there is attraction here but neither intends to act on it.
> 
> Dorian's dialogue to a romanced Inquisitor about finding enough silk scarves and he'll show them a dance that'll really shock them, is canon! Alas the chance to take him up on it is not. 
> 
> The original intention was to show you all what Cicero found in that office... but then I decided this all worked so much better if I left the reveal until later. I guess you'll have to wait.
> 
> Next chapter, Celene's apostate advisor makes their appearance, with surprises in store for everyone.


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone wants to make the Inquisitor's acquaintance, but there's two people in particular waiting to have a word, both with their own agendas... and one with a connection to Their Worships that goes deeper than even they knew. Meanwhile, there's something lurking in the servants' wing... and with secrets and lies everywhere, will all of them make it out alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is going up now because it's quite a key one. There's one reveal in particular I had planned from the outset of starting this fic. I think it'll impress a few people. Anyway. As far as actual content goes, we've got the servants' wing investigation from canon, and the final key personnel making their appearances. Also Cicero meets a Harlequin!

Back to the ballroom, because apparently Josephine and Borkul had some information for her, and Elisif had something for Leliana – idle gossip and various secrets of various nobles that might give them leverage at the court. Nothing on the Venatori though.

And so Elisif arrived in the vestibule, caught up with Josephine and learnt that they now had a hold over Briala, although Josephine didn’t think it was a true one, and Madanach confirmed Briala’s communications were being disrupted.

“And you think Gaspard’s not working for the Venatori either,” Elisif sighed. Josephine confirmed this was so.

“But we do have a situation in the servants’ wing,” Madanach added, and that was something… except Sera then arrived with Cicero, unable to actually track down her usual contacts. They’d apparently headed to the servants’ wing… and not been seen since.

“Which means no key and Borkul kicking the door in will get the wrong kind of attention,” Madanach growled. “Gods damn it.”

“But you’re gonna get in, right?” Sera said anxiously. “People are dying down there!”

Elisif knew that and it bothered her… but she wondered if Cole might be able to get in there and let them in. If it saved lives he’d certainly do it… if it was possible. First of course she had to find him.

“Can someone track down Cole,” Elisif sighed. “We might need him.”

Sera shuddered, but slipped away anyway, and Borkul said he thought he’d seen Cole lingering near the library, so off they went. Josephine disappeared to see where Yvette had got to, Cicero was likewise sidling off, with the blackmail material to give to Leliana… and then he stopped, glancing off to one side at a new arrival, a dark-haired woman in a purple velvet dress.

“Hello Morrigan,” Cicero chirped casually, as if they’d met, and then he froze, sidling back and turning around to get a better look at the woman, staring at her in disbelief, and on hearing Cicero say her name, both Madanach and Alistair had turned around, both whispering her name… then looking strangely at each other, clearly trying to work out how the other had met her.

Elisif could do with knowing how her husband, boyfriend _and_ Cicero knew her when she was scratching her head… but the woman did look familiar somehow. Yellow eyes like a Reachwoman’s – _was_ she a Reachwoman? Pale skin, black hair tied back, Orlesian ball gown of purple velvet… and a smirk on her face that portended hidden knowledge and dangerous intelligence. And then she spoke and the voice made Elisif shiver.

“Well, well. This is quite the little gathering. The Knife that Laughs, the King in No Longer Rags, and the famed Slayer of Alduin herself, all a very long way from home. Can it be the delights of Halamshiral have reached even the shores of Skyrim?”

Tamrielic. She spoke in Tamrielic. Accented, to be sure, but it was near-fluent Tamrielic. And she knew them. She knew exactly who they were, because she was clearly on first-name terms with Cicero… and her husband as well from the look of it.

“Madanach, who is this,” Elisif said coldly, switching back to her native tongue. “Is she a Reachwoman? How did she get here??”

“This would be Morrigan,” Madanach said, folding his arms. “She used to be part of my sister’s coven. Came from who knows where, buying her way in with a powerful grimoire that powered the experimental magic we used to set up the teleportal network, and then disappeared again not long after the liberation was made official. Well. We might be getting a better idea of where she came from.”

“So you are,” Morrigan said cheerfully, inclining her head. “My lord king, greetings and welcome to Thedas. How fares the Reach?”

“Don’t ‘my lord king’ me, you fucked off without so much as saying goodbye,” Madanach snapped. “Keirine was furious at one of her best people vanishing like that.”

Morrigan actually laughed, cheeks flushing pink. 

“Do send her my apologies. I left her my grimoire! It likely taught her more than I ever could, and she needed no instructions from me to create the teleportal network. I described that of the ancient elves and before I could blink, she was testing her own. Matriarch Keirine is formidable enough in her own right. She need not rely on my strength.”

Elisif closed her eyes, the truth slowly sinking in. All that experimental magic the Reachmen had come up with for the Windhelm siege – it had had a source. Morrigan had come from Thedas, bringing details of Thedosian magic and ancient elven secrets, and some sort of grimoire, and Reach-magic had flourished from the shot in the arm. And wait a second…

“Keirine’s grimoire that had that ritual that healed Madanach… that was yours originally?” Elisif whispered, horrified to realise she owed this mysterious witch more than her crown.

“My mother's,” Morrigan clarified. “But it eventually fell to me and having delved its secrets myself, I was happy to leave it with Matriarch Keirine. She took me in and helped me when I needed it, so I returned the favour and helped her with her own country’s fight. I met Madanach and Cicero at Witchmist Redoubt, and Eola too. I even met you in passing although I doubt you remember me.”

Elisif closed her eyes, trying to remember every passing Forsworn in Witchmist, and now that she thought about it, she did remember a young woman with dark hair and yellow eyes. She’d been dressed in a black leather skirt and a purple top that showed far too much skin, serving as one of the portal-wranglers. At the time, Elisif had thought her one of the Forsworn working for Keirine and no more. Now she realised there’d been far more to Morrigan than met the eye.

“Someone from Thedas was in Tamriel _years_ ago and none of us knew?” Elisif gasped, turning accusing eyes on Madanach. “Apart from you and Keirine, it turns out!”

“She was helping us!” Madanach protested. “Her magic was instrumental in arranging the siege that overthrew Ulfric and got you your crown! And no I didn’t tell you, because I’d only just met you and didn’t want to share all my secrets. Then she left anyway, and she never did tell us much about her home. Trust me, if I’d known how they treated mages, I’d never have brought Maia.” 

Had Keirine known, was the more pressing question, but it was for another time. Elisif suspected Keirine wouldn’t have suggested taking Maia if she’d known about the Circles either. She hoped. But Keirine might well have suspected Elisif had gone to Morrigan’s home, however little she’d known about the place.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on??” Alistair whispered, clearly confused… and he’d not stopped glaring at Morrigan. “And how does a witch from the Korcari Wilds know your language? You do know she’s evil and you can’t trust her, right?”

“And you brought Alistair,” Morrigan said wearily, switching back to Thedosian. “A man always willing to accuse me of the most heinous crimes without needing to provide anything so banal as evidence, or even details of what I’m alleged to have done.”

“What did you do?” Elisif asked, glancing between the two, watching Alistair going a furious shade of purple. “Alistair really doesn’t seem to like you.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes.

“What did I do? Why, merely assist Lyra Surana in defeating the Archdemon, tis all. Tis possible Alistair resents me for staying when he did not, however his dislike preceded his departure.”

Alistair let out a little howl of anger, but fortunately Madanach was there to hold him back, allowing Elisif to continue interviewing Morrigan.

“So that’s how Leliana knows you,” Elisif said softly. And Leliana didn’t exactly trust Morrigan either. “So you helped in the Fifth Blight, left, ended up in Keirine’s camp via some sort of teleportal magic, presumably not intentionally, studied with Keirine, helped us with the siege, and then came back here and ended up as Celene’s arcane advisor?”

“What??” Alistair breathed, staring at Madanach, who smiled apologetically at him. “You took Morrigan on?”

“My sister did,” Madanach admitted. “I met her later, after getting out of prison. She did help us, Alistair and she was always polite. To me, anyway. I have heard stories of staggering bitchiness towards other people, but it was mostly deserved. I… guess it may not always have been so. I didn’t know until now it was the same Morrigan you knew though. Was there ever any suspicion of disloyalty on her part or did the two of you just not get on? I imagine an ex-Templar and an apostate mage wouldn't have been the best of friends.”

There was an awkward pause as Alistair stared at his feet before admitting Morrigan had never actually done anything disloyal exactly, just been a colossal bitch with dark magic at her command, but Lyra and she had always been the best of friends somehow.

“Bet she was plotting something though,” Alistair muttered. “She’s not a nice person.”

“Nor am I, Alistair,” Madanach said, taking his hand. “Can we at least hear her out?”

Alistair shrugged, still glaring at her, but at least not actively objecting. Madanach seemed to let out a breath and nodded at Elisif to continue. Elisif turned back to Morrigan.

“I don’t know enough of you to form an opinion myself yet,” Elisif said, folding her arms and switching to her native tongue. “Forbidden magic, I can deal with, but my spymaster doesn’t trust you either. And it seems you left the Reach without even saying goodbye. Don’t tell me you, a prized asset, were in fear for your life, and yet left only at the very moment the Reachmen finally opened up their culture.”

Morrigan did smile at that.

“Hardly. Deepwood was the home I’d never had for a number of years. Twas the Empire poking into my affairs that I wished to avoid. I am aware the treaty of Windhelm specifically stated the Reachmen were valued for their magical skill. I had no intention of being Titus Mede’s pawn and so I left once Madanach was officially the Reach-King. I did not think to lay eyes on any of you again… until _Rise of the Dragonborn_ was placed before me, and word reached my ears the Dragonborn Queen turned Andrastian saviour was coming here. Truly the world is small.”

Cicero had tilted his head on hearing this, circling behind Morrigan and watching very carefully. Not preparing to attack – perhaps he didn’t like his chances against a witch of the Reach who knew he was there. But definitely paying attention. Elisif made a mental note to talk to Cicero later. He must have thoughts.

“Teleportals have that effect,” Elisif said. “But I don’t believe you sought us out just for a reunion. What do you want from us?” 

“What I want from you?” Morrigan asked, smiling as she raised an eyebrow. “Oh no, Inquisitor, tis not a matter of me requesting a favour. That time may come but not now. No, I have something for you. A key. Found on the body of a Tevinter mage I found and killed in the palace mere weeks ago.”

Elisif took the key, suddenly realising this might just get them into the servants’ wing after all, and that while final judgement on Morrigan’s ethics was worth reserving, she might at least be on the same side regarding Tevinter.

“And you’re just giving it to me?” Elisif asked. Morrigan nodded, smiling.

“Of course. I do not know where it leads, and cannot leave Celene tonight in any case. But you are resourceful, Inquisitor. You doubtless have leads. If Cicero has been doing his job properly, and I mean his special agent role rather than his obstacle removal one, I daresay you have more than you know what to do with.”

Not remotely true, but Morrigan didn’t need to know that. She had however managed to give them an actual lead to follow. Hopefully one that wouldn’t be a trap.

“We will certainly look into this – I have an idea where it might lead,” Elisif told her. “Thank you, Morrigan. If this works out, you’ll have my gratitude.”

Morrigan bowed and took her leave.

“There is no guarantee it will lead anywhere, and the more useful the information it leads to, the more dangerous the path will be. But the harm is not coming from me. Take care, Dragonborn. Enemies abound… and not all aligned with Tevinter.”

Morrigan left, skirts flaring as she walked away, and Elisif had more questions than answers. But she did have a key.

“I think this will get us into the servants’ wing,” Elisif whispered, actually feeling hopeful… until Alistair took the key off her.

“Thuri, you’re not going. What if it’s a trap?? I can’t let you walk into it!”

Elisif’s shocked gasp only intensified as Madanach took the key in turn.

“He’s not wrong, Elisif. Which is why I’m going. Don’t look at me like that, you two are being watched closely by the entire gathering, they will know if you two slip off. And if Morrigan turns out to have been laying a trap, I’m best placed to counter it. Whatever magic she knows, I probably know something better. Or worse. You’ll note she didn’t bother interrogating the Tevinter’s corpse. Because she probably doesn’t know how.”

Madanach’s grin didn’t unnerve her as much as it should have done, and the reminder that Morrigan might be powerful but didn’t know everything did help soothe her nerves.

“Wait, that’s a thing?” Alistair whispered, staring at Madanach. “You can do that??”

Madanach nodded, all enthusiasm until he saw the appalled look on Alistair’s face.

“Ye- I mean, I can’t, not personally, but Eola knows how and I imagine Dorian probably could if he had to. Involves summoning a spirit into...”

“All right,” Elisif interrupted. “We can discuss necromantic interrogation another day. Point is we have a way into the servants’ wing and a job to do. We were trying to get in there anyway, and now we can. I don’t know if we should entirely trust her, but she is helping. She could have kept her distance. We might never have known she was even here.”

“Or she is trying to ingratiate herself for reasons of her own,” Cicero purred as he sidled up. “Morrigan is talented, and was always nice to poor Cicero… but this is Orlais, not home. Just because she was an ally once does not mean we can trust her now.”

“See, he agrees with me!” Alistair said, putting an arm round Cicero, who looked surprised but then reciprocated the cuddle, cooing over how kind Alistair was and how Cicero was fond of him and truly appreciated him, and that he was a very loyal friend who the pretty Herald was lucky to have.

Cicero was definitely up to something but Elisif had other things to worry about right now. Such as whatever was lurking in the servants’ wing, killing people.

“Never mind about Morrigan, she’s not lurking in the palace’s underbelly murdering people,” Elisif whispered. “All right, Madanach, round up a party and go looking. If it’s mundane, Cicero and Borkul are more than up to dealing with it. If it’s magical, you and Dorian between you can handle it. Take Sera too, she’s better with locks than Cicero is.”

And so plans were formed and Madanach went off to round up his party and locate their secret stash of gear. Time to really go exploring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The key did indeed lead to the servants’ wing, and once their smuggled in stashes of gear had been retrieved, it was time to get changed.

Madanach nearly cried from relief at getting out of his heeled boots, using healing magic on his poor feet before getting into his familiar enchanted Forsworn boots, and while Cicero claimed to have been just fine in his stiletto boots, he too seemed relieved to be out of the tight breeches, ruffled shirt and frock coat and back into his motley.

“Not wearing armour?” Dorian asked. “You realise there are enemies lying in wait, yes?”

“It is easier to sneak in this, also Cicero’s armour is too sweaty,” Cicero said, adjusting his jester shirt. “Cicero cannot go back to the party afterwards looking in dire need of a bath, can he?”

“You’ll need more than a bath if you get stabbed,” Sera warned him. “I’m not sticking your guts back in.”

“Just try not to die,” Madanach said wearily. “I don’t want to have to explain to Eola you died because of your own fucking vanity, although to be honest I doubt she’ll be surprised that was what killed you.”

The most common argument between the two of them was Cicero fussing over his appearance and Eola wearily telling him to stop, he looked fine, please stop spending all our spare cash on fake anti-ageing creams, and all Skyhold knew it. Cicero scowled, glaring at them.

“Cicero is prettier than you all,” Cicero muttered. “Including you, Tevinter.”

Dorian just rolled his eyes, exchanged glances with Borkul, whose heavy armour he was assisting with, and reached for his staff.

“Shall we get going?” he sighed. “Baddies to fight, yes? Plots to uncover? Are we all ready?”

They were, and Cicero slipped ahead into the shadows, Sera covering him. It wasn’t long before Cicero called the all-clear.

“No one here but corpses. They have murdered a lot of the kitchen staff. Ooh, and there’s a halla statue up there, Cicero is going after it.”

Madanach followed, Dorian and Borkul by his side, and while he’d seen a lot of battles in his time, something about seeing butchered unarmed elven servants got to him. Especially when Sera was kneeling by one, shaking.

“Fucks’ sake, I knew this one,” Sera said viciously. “She was one of my friends – bollocks, so was he. None of them were fighters or bad people. They were just paid to cook and clean, that’s all. I mean, seriously, what fully qualified arsehole stops to kill a cook??”

“Maybe they didn’t want the alarm raised,” Dorian said, looking a bit pale himself.

“Or maybe they did know something,” Madanach murmured, picking up a book that had fallen out of the pocket of one of the victims. It turned out to be a diary, and the last entry mentioned her having taken a package to the vault, a package a lot of people seemed to have shown an undue amount of curiosity about.

“Shall we find this vault then?” Madanach asked as Cicero dropped down from where he’d been retrieving the halla.

“Better keep an eye out for more of these then, the bloody vault door probably needs them,” Sera said, taking the halla off Cicero.

They found another halla lying around outside, and then it was dropping down into the gardens where there was another corpse. No servant this though, he was human, dressed in a noble’s silks with a Council of Heralds mask… and a dagger in his back.

“This must the missing man that attaché was complaining about,” Dorian recalled. “Is that the Chalons crest on that dagger?? I knew Gaspard was at odds with the Council, but having them murdered is a bit much, isn’t it?”

Cicero was kneeling by the corpse, poking at the dagger and frowning… before turning the body over to reveal a slit throat.

“Cause of death was this not the back stab,” Cicero said tersely. “Not enough blood and the angle is wrong. The back stab was post-mortem, which means the dagger is planted. Whoever killed him wishes to throw suspicion on Gaspard.”

“Which means they also wanted the corpse found – it’s a trap!” Madanach shouted, casting his mage armour and motioning for Dorian to handle the barrier. Not a moment too soon, as an elven servant ran into view, screaming for help.

And then a figure out of nightmare swept out of the shadows, clad in the Orlesian patchwork of colours that marked out one of their own assassins, and a white mask with a horrific smile drawn on it. Knives flashed out in the torchlight and the elf collapsed in a shower of crimson.

And Cicero could not take his eyes off it. His own knives flicked out and Cicero prepared to fight… and the Harlequin laughed, threw down a stealth bomb and vanished in the murk.

“GET BACK HERE!” Cicero shrieked. “CICERO IS FINDING YOU, HARLEQUIN. CICERO WILL SHOW YOU WHAT A REAL ASSASSIN LOOKS LIKE!”

And off ran Cicero, leaving the rest of them to it, which was particularly unfortunate because a group of Venatori soldiers and their mage leader had shown up looking for a fight.

“Leave him, he’ll survive,” Madanach snapped, turning his attention to the Venatori. “Deal with these!”

Even with Cicero gone, the remaining four were hardly a pushover. Sera dashed one of her frost elixirs and Borkul went straight for the mage, sending him flying with one sweep of Volendrung. Leaving Dorian and Madanach to deal with the soldiers, and between Dorian’s fire wall and rune spells and Madanach combining fear illusions, an ice spear and an axe in the head of one particularly stubborn soldier, the Inquisition were victorious.

“Shit, now what?” Sera snapped, kicking one of the soldiers. “I didn’t think Knifey would fuck off and leave us!”

“He can’t have gone far, just follow the blood trails, bodies and...”

An unearthly howl went up from somewhere inside the nearby Grand Apartments and Madanach nodded, having completely expected that.

“Screaming. Come on, there’s an entrance round here.”

An entrance guarded by more Venatori, who’d all been distracted by the bloodshed going on inside the Apartments and failed to notice an Orc charging them down from the rear. Easy prey for the Inquisition.

Inside was a scene of carnage – a great hall with bodies everywhere, some of them ripped into pieces, and the floor swimming in blood… and in the entrance, Cicero’s daggers and motley in a pile. 

“So when we find him he’ll be naked,” Dorian said wearily, scooping them up. “Marvellous.”

“You did a strip-tease in front of the entire party earlier, you’re not one to talk,” Madanach said, ignoring Sera making vomiting noises as he picked his way through the room. “Come on, let’s find him.”

More bodies in the next room and a trail of bloodstained prints belonging to nothing human leading to the upper floor, prints that got Sera’s attention.

“Er… Madanach. What are these. No, seriously, what ARE these? They’re like some massive dog tore through here.”

“Or wolf,” Dorian said sombrely, putting the pieces together. “Madanach, I have heard stories of people who can shapeshift into savage animals. Would Cicero be one of them? And is he a shifter mage or was he cursed?”

“I am told it was entirely voluntary on his part,” Madanach said, gritted his teeth as he led them on. “As are most of the stupid things that man does to himself. Offer him some special power that promises death and destruction to his enemies, and he can’t help himself.”

“Come on, you two knew he was a crazy little murderer,” Borkul told them both. “You smash potions and set yourself on fire. You summon spirits into corpses. You neither of you have got a handle on normal.”

“He has a point about that,” Dorian admitted, but Sera wasn’t convinced.

“There’s weird and then there’s turning himself into a savage beast and ripping an entire room full of people to bits,” Sera said, shivering. “He is not right.”

Another room containing dead Venatori and a halla door, and then from round the corner, came something none of them had ever really heard before. Cicero in pain.

“That’s Cicero??” Madanach gasped. “Right, let’s get over there, I think he just morphed back at the worst possible moment.”

There came the sound of two arrows thudding into a body, and then a death cry as a knife sunk into flesh, and Madanach broke into a run.

“Cicero!” Madanach cried, not sure who’d killed who and not caring. Cicero was down and dying, and despite everything, despite Cicero being a pain in the backside a lot of the time, Cicero was _family_. Cicero was one of his people. And Madanach wasn’t losing him. 

Madanach rounded the corner to see a naked Cicero on the floor in a pool of blood, clutching a nasty stomach wound… and a dead Harlequin with two arrows in her back and a throwing knife. Which couldn't have been Cicero’s work… and then he saw the masked elf in a green dress step forward, looking curiously down at Cicero, two elven guards at her back.

“Cicero does not need saving!” Cicero hissed at her. “Cicero had things perfectly under control!”

“I’m sure you did,” the elf said, amused. “Should we not find you a healer then?”

“Er...” Cicero began, and then Madanach made his entrance, ignoring the elf and going straight for Cicero.

“No need, you got one,” Madanach growled. “Cicero, don’t move.”

Dropping to Cicero’s side, Madanach set about healing him, first the organs then packing everything back again then the abdominal wall and finally shoving potions at Cicero to counteract the effects of shock, blood loss and infection, and then taking the motley off Dorian so Cicero could get dressed.

Cicero had remained pliant throughout, cooing at Madanach.

“Cicero knew you cared really,” Cicero purred as he sat up, clinging to him.

“Don’t you _dare_ do that again,” Madanach growled at him. “If we’re going in as a team, that means it’s too dangerous to go running off on your own!”

“Honour demanded it!” Cicero protested, scowling at the Harlequin corpse.

“Honour was nearly the fucking death of you,” Madanach growled, and then he became aware of shadows falling on him in an already darkened hallway.

He looked up to see that the elf hadn’t left, only waiting for him to be done with Cicero before making her approach, and now he was closer, Madanach recognised the mask. Ambassador Briala, come here in person, still in the green gown she’d been wearing in the ballroom.

“Deputy Inquisitor,” Briala said, bowing slightly. “I had not expected to see you here. I hadn’t thought to see the Inquisition in here at all. A few elven servants start disappearing, and some of my own people, and for me, that is a problem. I had not thought it a concern of yours. I came down here to save or avenge my people… and I find the Inquisitor’s duellist has done most of the work for me.”

“Yeah, he does that,” Madanach said, ruffling Cicero’s hair and getting to his feet. “We were investigating a Venatori plot to assassinate Empress Celene, and the trail led here. Cicero took off on his own because apparently there is only room for one assassin in a ridiculous outfit.”

“Cicero had things in hand!” Cicero protested, convincing no one.

“My apologies, Messere Cicero,” Briala said, amused. “Next time you’re at an attacker’s mercy, should we stay our hands?”

Cicero pouted, saying nothing but not wanting to admit defeat either, clutching at the motley and pulling his clothes on in silence. Madanach turned his attention back to Briala.

“Cicero is never going to admit someone nearly beat him in a fight, but please believe me when I say the Inquisition is grateful he’s not dead,” Madanach said wearily. “If you’re here fighting the Venatori as well, and they’re killing your people, that means you’re not working with them at least. Which means you and I are on the same side tonight. Just answer one question. What were you looking for in the Royal Wing?”

Blank look on Briala’s face, apparent despite the coquin mask.

“I’ve sent no one there all night. Although now you said that, I’m wondering if I should investigate. Did you find anything there of interest?”

An elf claiming she was sent there by Briala, but clearly the orders had been tampered with… and that Harlequin probably hadn’t been working for Briala either. So. Whatever Briala’s motivations, they weren’t so dark she’d sacrifice her own people over her own reputation. Madanach felt himself relaxing. She might just be a better person than he was.

“Nothing on the Venatori. Evidence your people had been there though. I was just wondering what you were looking for.”

Briala frowned.

“I wasn’t. If I had, it would have been something on Celene I’d have wanted. I’ve sent no one but I also know my people have been assassinated and pickups have not been made. Someone doctoring orders so that my people weren’t where they should be… I can believe that. Everyone is playing games tonight, but someone is playing us all, and I don’t know who it is. If you’re here following the trail of Venatori, that means it’s not you. I don’t suppose you’re any closer to figuring it out than I am?”

“Not really, but we think it’s not Gaspard himself,” Madanach admitted. “Someone shoved a Chalons dagger into a dead Council of Heralds emissary back there, but he was already dead when they did. Someone’s trying to frame him, we think. And it’s not Celene, she’s got her own plans for dealing with him, just as he had his plans for dealing with her, no Venatori involved.”

“Useful to know,” Briala murmured. “Of course, that doesn’t tell me who it is. It could be anyone in their factions. Some other disaffected noble? I don’t know, they’ve all got so many rivalries going on, virtually any of them could gain. But I do know a few other things, and seeing as you’ve been honest with me, I should be honest with you, yes?”

Briala tilted her head, smiling knowingly at him. 

“I know which way the wind is blowing, Madanach. I’d bet money you’ll be part of the talks before the night is over. And I may have read a certain new book that Messere Tethras published a few weeks back. It was an entertaining read, but I’ve heard stories out of Skyhold. About your mysterious scholar-mage, Liriel of Alinor, and an elven version of the Maker called Auriel. Half my movement’s converted, and tales of a mysterious land called Tamriel abound. Then that book came out.” Briala stepped forward, looking Madanach over with no little interest.

“Greetings, Reach-King. Is Maranil the pseudonym or is Madanach? And don’t think I don’t know I just saved Morio Sicarius. I must say, he was my favourite. Tethras gave him all the best lines.”

Cicero’s pout turned into a delighted smile as he immediately began preening. Madanach just shook his head, not even remotely surprised at the change of heart. If it wasn’t Cicero’s warped sense of honour, it would be his damn vanity that did him in.

“My real name is Madanach,” Madanach admitted. “But the book’s true about me otherwise. I did found and lead the Forsworn for years. Spent twenty years in prison doing hard labour for my trouble, along with my bodyguard Borkul over there.”

Briala acknowledged Borkul with a smile and then turned back to Madanach, eyes alight with excitement and was it Madanach’s imagination or did she look a little flushed?

“So you know,” Briala whispered. “You know what it’s like, fighting for your freedom in a land stolen from you by another people, forced into servitude. The book even says you weren’t born to the tribes, you were born and raised in your city’s Reachman alienage.”

“Yeah,” Madanach admitted. “The tragic backstory’s true enough. Varric didn’t exaggerate any of that. But our aims were to get our kingdom back by any means necessary. I still don’t know what yours are. Are you after an elven homeland? I do know your people have mostly restricted yourselves to information-gathering and exploiting the Game.”

“Briala found out Celene and Gaspard had negotiators meeting in secret and killed them all,” Cicero chirped. “She’s trying to drag out the war. Or at least make sure they don’t make peace, get together and decide to murder elves.”

Madanach saw no denial in Briala’s eyes, and honestly he’d done far worse.

“Sound strategy, I approve,” Madanach said, ignoring Sera’s huff of disapproval and Cicero hissing at her to stop being like that, if there was a pogrom against elves, Sera would suffer as soon as she was found somewhere she shouldn’t be, and claiming to be a Friend rather than an Ambassador would not help her much.

Briala burst out laughing, eyes sparkling behind her coquin mask. 

“I knew I’d get on with you!” Briala laughed. “So, Reach-King, how about you help out a fellow rebel? I may as well be honest with you. I’m Celene’s former lover, and once there was a time my spies worked for her. Then we fell out. Well. She had me arrested to save her own reputation as part of the Game. It wasn’t personal. It never is. Same lie Orlesians always tell themselves. After getting free, I might even have forgiven her. And then I found out that the assassins that murdered my parents, along with most of the other servants in Celene's chateau? They weren’t hired by Celene’s rivals in the Game. Celene hired them herself. She needed to fake an attack on her own holdings for… I don’t even remember the reason, but it was part of her rise to power as Empress. She went out to a party, the assassins attacked, my parents died and it was sheer luck I survived. We were already lovers by that point. And she was prepared to let my family die and risk my life for her own political position. I didn’t know at the time. I only found out as war broke out, but it was enough to make me hate her. So I walked away and let the war play out, doing just enough to ensure no side gained an advantage.”

“And now you’re here,” Madanach said, sympathising but also wondering what would lead her back. “Why’d you come? I can believe Celene was desperate enough to invite you if she needed your help but not that you’d actually come.”

“If I want a place at the table, I need to actually sit down to eat when I’m invited, no?” Briala said, shrugging. “This isn’t for me. This is for my people. Giving elves a voice. We want an elven noble at court, elven concerns listened to. For that, I need to be here. Besides, it’s not just Celene I have access to. It’s Gaspard. He’s not as reasonable or persuadable as his cousin, but he’s a simple man. Simple men aren’t hard to manipulate. With time and the right amount of blackmail… I could work with him.”

“Are you asking me to help you put Gaspard on the throne,” Madanach said warily, not because he disagreed necessarily, not after seeing that bitch flirting with his boyfriend, but because he needed to be sure of what he was committing to.

“I am not asking you for anything,” Briala said, far too casually. “The politics will play out as they will. I know your purpose is hunting Corypheus and the Venatori… at the present. But if you were to lean a little bit our way? I could be an ally worth having, Madanach. Not just to the Inquisition… but to you and Elisif. And while the Inquisition’s purpose is not political, the Imperial Heir of Tamriel can’t not be. Ask yourself who Elisif would rather face across a negotiating table. The greatest player of the Game in Orlais, a woman as cunning as she is charismatic and beautiful? Or Gaspard de Chalons, a man more at home on the battlefield, who has a chevalier’s honour… and if it came to a fight, a man who does not have a dragon at his disposal.”

Elisif and Madanach could run rings round Gaspard, he was sure. He wasn’t anything like as sure about Celene.

“I will speak with Elisif,” Madanach promised. “She’ll be interested to hear this… and not unsympathetic. Our purpose here isn’t political, but Elisif’s always willing to talk to potential allies.”

“Everything here is political, Madanach,” Briala told him. “But I think you already know that. I will see you back at the ballroom. If Elisif wishes to talk to me in person, she can find me there. I’d be fascinated to make the Dragonborn’s acquaintance. Good evening, Reach-King. And you, Cicero. Try not to die, life will be so much more dull without you.” 

Briala made her way to a balcony, and then she was gone, her guards following as they abseiled down and disappeared into the night. Well now. That was unexpected… although not unpleasant. Hadn’t they been after a King or Queen in Rags? They’d found her, and she was proving friendly. Getting her reconciled with Celene was going to take some doing… but if Gaspard took over instead? Giving her some sort of hold over him might prove beneficial for them all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero had just about been able to stand, although walking on his own was going to take a while. Borkul grimaced, picked him up and was going to carry him out until Sera picked up a nearby halla statuette and recalled there’d been a halla door back there, reckon that was that vault everyone was trying to get into?

So back they were, Cicero draped on the bed recovering, the Harlequin’s mask clutched in his hands as a trophy, while Sera and Borkul slotted the halla into the alcoves… and the door swung open.

Sera began helping herself to valuables, but it was the wooden necklace hanging off a shelf that caught Madanach’s eye. It looked elven.

“Now why would Celene have this in her vault,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “It’s not enchanted, not valuable in itself. Why lock it away? Or have it at all?”

“Present from her elven lady-friend,” Borkul said, looking it over. “She didn’t want anyone finding it.”

“She could have just thrown it out,” Madanach said, staring at it. “Has she still got feelings for Briala?”

“Briala doesn’t have feelings for her,” Dorian said, coming to stand on Madanach’s other side. “She sounded very definite about that.”

Maybe. But Madanach also knew it wasn’t so easy to forget a lover. Perhaps it might come in useful. For one thing, if Celene got her girlfriend back, she might stop flirting with Alistair. And so he pocketed it and prepared to head back to the ballroom. Time to talk to his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan in the Reach has been on my mind right from the start of this fic. :D She went somewhere via that Eluvian. Why not there? It wasn't entirely intentional, but she was having a difficult birth, cast a spell to locate a skilled midwife and ended up in Keirine's lap, so to speak.
> 
> I admit to being a bit of a Briala fan but as to who will end up as the official ruler - I changed my mind on that about three times in the planning of this. I always knew she and Madanach would get on though.
> 
> Next chapter: we've got the dance with Florianne, lots of advisor discussions, and Elisif off to talk to the candidates personally. It got really intense once I went off canon, but that's always the way.


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of information but no real proof of anything, and Elisif's no closer to knowing who's planning the assassination... until the final actor in proceedings makes herself known and shows an interest in her specifically. The result might be a lead or might be a trap, but it's worth following. However, it looks increasingly like the Inquisition will need to get involved with the politics... and it turns out Elisif's got more than one option on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit of a filler chapter, but it's setting up an awful lot. It covers Elisif and Madanach discussing events so far, then the dance, then the advisors meeting, then Elisif heading off to meet one of the candidates. Basically it's covering a lot of canon ground before next chapter, where things get... interesting.

Elisif stared at the locket as if it held the answer to her prayers somehow. A simple thing, an elven thing, but the only tangible bit of evidence for anything so far.

“So, after nearly getting Cicero killed, we’re no nearer to working out what’s going on,” Elisif said, feeling a headache coming on. Cicero was going to be fine at least – they’d found him a chaise longue in the ballroom, told everyone an old war wound was acting up, provided him with brandy and left him to it, with Leliana and Vivienne keeping him company, and somehow he’d managed to acquire a whole coterie of young lady admirers to fuss over him and tell him how brave he was. Cicero was going to be absolutely fine but he very nearly hadn’t been and Elisif had been surprised at the level of emotion she’d felt on hearing the story and seeing him being carried in by Borkul. As had Cicero, who’d gasped ‘pretty Elisif was worried?’ and cuddled her back.

“Of course, you’re my friend, you can’t die!” Elisif had gasped, fighting back tears. He was Cicero. He was meant to be an unstoppable unpredictable force of nature. He wasn’t supposed to get killed! But he wasn’t as young as he used to be and Elisif realised one day, he wouldn’t be around any more, whether he died in action or after a long retirement.

If he did die in action, it had damn well better be worth it, and Elisif wasn’t convinced this one had been.

“Not exactly,” Madanach admitted. “Someone tried to frame up Gaspard for the death of a Council emissary. I don’t know who it was meant for though. Celene? Or… was it meant for us to find.”

“Gods, I don’t know, they had no guarantee we’d even be there,” Elisif sighed. “If anything, the trail of bodies would bring Briala, not us. Which it did. Sounds like something Celene might do, have Briala and Gaspard at each other’s throats. And talking of which, Briala knows?? About Tamriel?”

“Yeah, she’d already had half her people converting to Auriel-worship, and then the book came out. I told you you should have held up publication until after the ball,” Madanach sighed.

“How was I to know??” Elisif hissed. “Varric swore his books didn’t sell in Orlais! I didn’t think anyone here would have read it! I wasn’t to know Varric would be mobbed the moment he walked in the door with a queue for autographs round one garden, up the stairs, round the fountain… the bloody Dowager was asking him to sign her copy. The _Dowager??_ I swear, Madanach, if he hadn’t looked as shocked as I was, I’d have wrung his neck. As it is, apparently his publisher told him no one was buying the books in Orlais so they could pocket his royalties. Our entire cover is at risk because of one corrupt publisher.”

Elisif was ready to weep… until Madanach put an arm around her.

“Hey. We knew this might happen. That was the reason we let Varric write it in the first place, as a public relations effort. And for what it’s worth, Briala might make a good ally. She seemed pleased to meet me. Apparently reading the book and seeing me win freedom for the Reach inspired her. I don’t think chatting up the rightful ruler and helping her deal with the usurper is going to work with these two though.”

Elisif stared down at the locket, knowing things rarely worked out so neatly in real life. All the same, if either Celene or Briala still had feelings… ugh, this was pointless. She passed the locket back to Madanach.

“So Briala is not behind the Venatori because they were killing her agents, and she killed their people in turn. And she never sent that agent to the royal wing, someone else lured the woman there with fake orders. Arkay knows why. And it’s not Gaspard because he wouldn't bother with plans for a coup if he knew about an assassination attempt plus he wouldn’t leave his own dagger lying around.”

“But that means it does need to be someone who’d have access to a Chalons dagger, because they don’t make these things for just anyone,” Madanach said thoughtfully. “You can’t just buy one or ask a smith to make one. You need to be a Chalons family member or retainer or a damn good thief, and Gaspard didn’t warn us of a thief about. So… someone in his camp. Who either has enough coin to afford to hire Harlequins, or sufficient standing to requisition the ones already on the Chalons payroll.”

That couldn’t be very many people. And then a shadow fell over them both as a woman approached, dropping a curtsey.

“Madame Inquisitor,” Florianne de Chalons said, smiling enigmatically. “And Messere Madanach. Greetings to you both. We met briefly earlier. Welcome to my party.”

Elisif mentally wrenched her brain back from thinking and speaking in Tamrielic and into her second language, forcing the usual words of greeting in Thedosian into her mind. Which was harder than usual, because Madanach had just squeezed her hand and it occurred to her that perhaps he’d guessed the same thing she had. That Florianne was a Chalons of standing and they knew very little about her.

About time they found out. And so Elisif put on her most charming smile and, Madanach’s hand in hers, greeted the enemy.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Elisif said clearly. “What can we do for you?”

Florianne’s smile looked weirdly triumphant, and Elisif remembered Leliana talking about bardic life and how a smile could be a sharper weapon than any sword. 

“I wished to get to know the Herald of Andraste better,” Florianne said, sounding as if she was picking her words very carefully. “I believe you and I are both concerned by the actions of… a certain person. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor, come.” She held out an expectant hand to Elisif, and Elisif realised she was being asked to dance. By another woman.

“What, you want a dance? With me?” Elisif managed to get out, realising she sounded like a flustered teenager, and Madanach was snickering, damn him.

“Of course she’s asking you, you’re the pretty one,” Madanach said cheerfully. “Go on, go have fun. I’ll be fine.”

And so Elisif had no choice but to swallow her nerves, take Florianne’s hand and be led off to the dancefloor, and while she was just fine dancing with men, having a woman take her by the hand and lead her away felt really really weird.

Florianne either didn’t notice or at least didn’t deign to comment, and so Elisif let herself be led to the dance floor and did her best to copy everyone else, and thank Dibella this was one of the dances Josephine had drilled her in prior to the ball. 

“You are not from Orlais, are you?” Florianne noted. “You are… an Avvar chieftain, they say.”

By the Eight, that hadn’t taken long. Elisif dearly hoped Florianne hadn’t read the book.

“The Avvar name me kin, yes,” Elisif said. Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie. “The clans are all very excited to see how my story ends.” Hopefully in glorious victory rather than watching Nirn fall apart from Sovngarde, but she didn’t tell Florianne that.

“And do they talk much about our little war?” Florianne asked, amused. “It cannot have escaped your notice, not tonight of all nights.”

“All Thedas is talking of Orlais’ war,” Elisif said, guessing that even if this wasn’t true, Orlesians probably wouldn’t want to hear otherwise. “The outcome could affect everyone, after all.”

Soft laugh from Florianne, who was gliding effortlessly alongside Elisif as if she knew the steps in her sleep. 

“Perhaps it does. I would not be surprised to find the Empire is the centre of everyone’s world.”

Elisif just about managed to not giggle… but she couldn’t quite conceal a mischievous smile.

“The Empire certainly occupies a special place in my heart, Your Grace,” Elisif told her, and this too was true. She just wasn’t talking about the same Empire Florianne was.

Florianne clearly hadn’t bothered reading _Rise of the Dragonborn,_ because this flew right over her head.

“It took great effort to arrange tonight’s negotiations,” Florianne said, effortlessly turning the conversation back to herself. “And yet one party would use these revels as an excuse for blackest treason.” She turned in time with the music, now facing Elisif as the couples dancing formed into two lines. 

“The security of the Empire is at stake,” Florianne continued. “Neither of us wishes to see it fall.”

Elisif caught a flicker of something behind the mask. She couldn’t be certain, but there was something in Florianne’s manner. Florianne wasn’t being entirely truthful.

“Is that what we both want?” Elisif said, watching closely. Alas, Florianne had been at this game a long time. 

“I would hope we are of one mind on this,” Florianne said, placing first one palm to Elisif’s, then the other, twirling in front of Elisif and expecting Elisif to stand at her back.

_Stendarr’s mercy, Josie taught me the woman’s part, not the man’s, fuck fuck fuck._

Elisif risked a glance at one of the other couples and copied the man, one hand on Florianne’s back.

“Hard to tell what anyone’s planning here,” Elisif said, not quite managing to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Anyone could be friend or foe, couldn’t they?”

Florianne was too observant not to pick up on the implication that Florianne’s intentions were a complete unknown still. She responded by turning the attention back on Elisif, precisely at the moment the steps changed and Elisif, just a second too late, realised she needed to be in a waltz now.

“I know you arrived as a guest of my brother and your people have been everywhere in the palace,” Florianne purred. “You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor, and a concern to some.”

Elisif was very proud of herself for not stepping on Florianne’s toes, but the footwork was not as important as keeping up the conversation. At least her father had trained her well in that. It was at times like this she missed him most. He’d have loved this ball and done well at the dancing, she was sure.

“What am I to you?” she whispered… and to her surprise, Florianne actually shivered. Wait, was that a victory?? Had… had Elisif actually scored a blow against Florianne there?

Despite two bisexual stepdaughters, Elisif hadn’t really until that moment properly internalised that women could find each other attractive… and that some of them might find _her_ attractive and that that could be made use of. 

Elisif didn’t know what to make of that, but she filed it away for future contemplation. It’d make Madanach laugh anyway.

“A little of both,” Florianne admitted, looking a little nervous. “Do you yet know who is friend and who is foe? Who can be trusted?”

“We’re figuring it out,” Elisif told her. “I know I can trust my own people… and I would trust my husband with my life. He and I, we’re a team, Your Grace. Anyone who tangles with one of us, they have challenged us both.”

Florianne glanced instinctively up at the balconies surrounding the sunken dance floor, and saw Madanach, glass of wine in hand, leaning against the gilded handrail, smiling at them both. It was the trademark predatory smile of a born politician and Florianne knew it for what it was too. She met Madanach’s gaze dead on, held it for a second, and then as Elisif spun her round and broke the line of sight, Florianne lowered her eyes to Elisif’s, a born predator sizing up potential prey.

“In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone,” Florianne said, and in those few words, Elisif felt all the force of the implied threat. That Elisif’s marriage would not protect her and her husband might be powerless to intervene if trouble struck.

Florianne really didn’t know what her husband was capable of.

_He is in my head, you fool, I feel his emotions like my own unless we go out of our way to mute them, and I can always tell where he is if I open my heart and mind and listen._

She could feel him now, feel his amusement… and pride. All laced with affection, and Elisif wished with all her heart she was dancing with him, not this venomous harpy.

Never mind. She could feel him, and as long as he lived, she’d never be alone.

“Tonight is an evening of great importance, Your Worship,” Florianne continued. “It remains to be seen what role you will play in it. It cannot have escaped your notice that certain persons are engaged in dangerous machinations.”

“It’s the Orlesian national sport, isn’t it?” Elisif snorted. Honestly, the number of dangerous machinations going on was ridiculous. Any one of them back in Tamriel would have been enough to bring a noble down. Here it seemed they were just minor intrigues at best.

Florianne did smile at that, twirling back a little and Elisif vaguely recalled this bit involved the woman being tilted all the way back, except there was some fancy Orlesian word for it. Well. She could manage the manoeuvre anyway… and the crowd actually sighed.

Elisif glanced up and realised horrified they were the only couple left on the dancefloor, literally _everyone_ was watching, and if she screwed up now, the entire ball would know about it. No pressure, right?

“You have little time,” Florianne whispered, and then Elisif pulled her upright and Florianne moved to stand at her side, sashaying down the room with her.

“The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes,” Florianne whispered. Elisif nodded, just listening as if Florianne’s every word was gold, and it was… but not incriminating the person Florianne seemed to think. “In the royal wing, you will find the captain of my brother’s mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard’s secrets. I’m sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming.”

The music finally came to a close, Florianne turning to bow, and Elisif did likewise.

“We’ll see what the night has in store, won’t we?” Elisif said, smiling sweetly and promising nothing… because she knew now. She knew what she was dealing with. She was dealing with a woman prepared to throw her own brother under the bus as a distraction while she organised the assassination itself. Because Gaspard was innocent, of the Venatori plot at least, and Florianne was too bright to turn her own brother in unless she was sure of his guilt… and seeing as he wasn’t guilty, that meant intentional betrayal on her part. 

Madanach was coming to greet her as Florianne took her leave, kissing one hand then the other then squeezing her hands in his, all the while smiling at her… and she could feel how proud he was of her.

“See? You did it!” Madanach told her, clearly feeling her excitement as well although he couldn’t know what caused it. “So, what’d she tell you? You know something. I can tell.”

“I’ve got a lead,” Elisif whispered in Tamrielic. “I think! But I don’t know – advisors are here, cast a muffling spell.”

Madanach swiftly did this, an illusion spell that not only muffled their voices, it also made onlookers have a sudden urge to be elsewhere, mainly by causing the sensation of a very full bladder. Elisif anticipated a queue for the privies in about five minutes but it wasn’t her problem.

“We should take you dancing more often!” Josephine gasped, looking thrilled to have seen it all. “You’ll be the talk of the court for months!”

“You were dancing with the Grand Duchess?” Leliana asked, looking impressed, and it took a lot to impress Leliana. “Did you find anything out? This is Orlais after all – everything happens for a reason.”

“My beautiful and clever wife has a lead,” Madanach said proudly, arm round her shoulders. “Go on, tell them.”

“Florianne’s our Venatori agent,” Elisif whispered, beckoning them all in. “She arranged these talks to get the entire court here and then arrange Celene’s murder in front of everyone, and pin it on Gaspard! The Harlequins are hers. She murdered that emissary and arranged for the killer to put her dagger in his back. And for all we know, she was luring Briala’s agent to her death to try and pin that on Celene somehow so Briala wouldn't try to avenge her.”

“Florianne’s old room,” Leliana whispered. “That’s where you found the elf. I didn’t think anything of it at first but it’s starting to make sense.”

“But how’d you know all this?” Cullen asked. “She didn’t just tell you on the dancefloor, did she?”

“No,” Elisif said, shaking her head. “She was trying to tell me Gaspard’s planning an attack – well, we knew that, but I think she meant something more. Look, she gave me a lead. Gaspard’s hired mercenaries, and their captain’s in the royal wing. Florianne said he’d tell us all Gaspard’s secrets.”

The advisors were exchanging looks, thoughtful if not impressed.

“It could be a lead,” Leliana said, thinking this over. “Worth checking out.”

“Or a trap,” Cullen said, frowning. “And you don’t have Cicero available this time – man’s healthy but not up to another excursion.”

“But we searched the royal wing, no sign of… oh! The Fade rift! He must be through there!”

“Which means I need to go in person,” Elisif realised. Which would involve digging her own armour out of the cache and generally be a pain in the backside on a practical level… but there really wasn’t any other option, was there.

“I’ll come with you,” Madanach began but Josephine shook her head.

“Both of you gone will be noticed and the court’s approval of us is not so high we can afford to chance it,” Josephine warned. “You should stay here, my lord. Alistair and Borkul can go in your stead and Dorian would also welcome a chance to get away from the crowd. After his display earlier, a great many people are willing to overlook his being a Tevinter mage and he’s been fending off admirers all evening.”

“I’ll take him,” Elisif promised. “But I want Florianne watched. Maybe Cicero can’t manage an expedition but he can still shadow her.”

“Or at least watch Celene,” Madanach added. “We don’t know who her assailant will be but we know she’s the target. Cicero knows what sort of thing to look for.”

“I’ll arrange it,” Leliana promised. Cullen however still looked unconvinced.

“We’ve got more than an assassination attempt to worry about. Gaspard’s still planning to mount a coup,” Cullen said, frowning. “Thanks to the information Josephine and Borkul found us, I’ve been able to get enough Inquisition guards in place to stop the coup, but this is going to involve us in the politics. Even if we save Celene, the situation won’t be stable. We’re going to need to back one of the candidates – not for the Inquisition’s benefit but to ensure Orlais doesn’t crumble completely.”

For a Fereldan like Cullen to say this, a man who’d spent the entire evening fending off advances from Orlesians and who hadn’t wanted to come in the first place, meant he likely wasn’t wrong. It had likely pained him to admit they’d have to save Orlais, not just Celene.

“He’s right,” Leliana said quietly. “What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen.”

“Then we should support her!” Josephine gasped, staring at Leliana. “She is the rightful ruler, and she’s led Orlais successfully for years! Why would we say otherwise?”

She was staring desperately at the others present, looking for support… but seeing nothing like it anywhere, because Cullen didn’t seem to agree, Leliana was looking thoughtful… and Elisif already knew her husband’s opinions on Celene.

“Because she led Orlais to this point,” Cullen said quietly, lowering his voice. “Orlais doesn’t need some dilettante who’s too focused on court intrigue to see the real threat. If Orlais’s nobility wasn’t so obsessed with its bloody Game, we wouldn't be having half the trouble we are now. Gaspard wouldn’t put up with this. He’d make a better Emperor right now. Orlais needs a military-minded leader.”

Elisif flinched, because hadn’t similar things been said about her once? _Skyrim needs a true Nord to defend her… Elisif can’t even wield a blade… too peace-loving, we need a warrior to rule us… when we drink the Empire’s milk it makes us all weak, Elisif’s proof of that._

“Celene’s not a bad leader,” Elisif said quietly. “I may not like the woman much but she’s led Orlais for twenty years on her own.”

“Sometimes hard decisions need to be made,” Leliana said, standing with Cullen on this one. “Celene might be grateful to us for saving her but imagine what we could do with an ally who owed us everything.”

Meaning Gaspard’s support might be more valuable than Celene’s. Elisif wasn’t at all sure what she felt about this… but her husband had no such compunctions.

“Now we’re talking!” Madanach growled, and she could feel the delight in his mind over contemplating Celene dead and no longer able to chat up his boyfriend. “Gaspard’s not interested in men, right?”

“Gaspard is interested mostly in drinking, hunting and fighting,” Leliana said, grinning. “He was married once, in an arranged match with the daughter of Bastien de Ghislain. She died due to the machinations of the Game, and he never remarried. No other known lovers, paramours or other liaisons. Don’t worry, Madanach. He won’t have any designs on Alistair.”

Madanach put an arm round his wife, squeezing her waist and kissing her forehead.

“There we are, problem solved. We can back Gaspard, install him as Emperor with our support after the Venatori kill Celene, restore order that way, and Alistair’s safe from the bitch forever!”

“Madanach!” Elisif hissed, even as the dragon at the back of her mind whispered, yes, he was right, do it and keep Alistair forever. She couldn’t just let Celene die because she was chatting her partner up. Mercifully Josephine was of similar mind.

“Do you realise what you’re suggesting?” Josephine gasped. “This is treason!”

“We are not Orlesian,” Leliana said firmly. “We are the Inquisition and we must think of all Thedas. If Celene is not the ruler to help stand against the chaos, we cannot let sentimentality stop us from doing what must be done.”

“No arguments here,” Madanach said, even as Josephine cried Leliana’s name in horror. Cullen coughed and stepped in between the two women, just in case.

“This must however be your decision, Inquisitor, not ours. Or his,” Cullen said, glaring pointedly at Madanach. Madanach glared back then turned his attention to her, doubling down on the snuggling.

“You know you want to,” he murmured. “You don’t like her getting her thieving fingers on our boyfriend any more than I do.” And before Elisif could tell him to cut it out, he’d switched to Tamrielic.

“Briala said to think about who you’d rather face across a negotiating table one day, Celene or Gaspard. Celene’s not just a rival for Alistair’s affections, she could stand against Tamriel. Gaspard on the other hand? We could run rings around him. Briala thinks she stands a good chance of being able to manipulate him too if she has sufficient blackmail to do it. Think about it, Elisif. We install Gaspard but put Briala in place as a power behind the scenes. Tell Gaspard we’ll reveal the coup attempt to everyone and make it look like he was in league with the assassination attempt if he doesn’t co-operate.”

Elisif narrowed her eyes and pointedly removed his hands from her waist.

“You’re awfully keen to get behind this Ambassador Briala,” Elisif said, wondering who else to be jealous of tonight. “You’re not her ally, Madanach, you’re my husband!”

Madanach had the nerve to pout at her.

“She’s a good person, Elisif. She’s trying to do the right thing and secure freedom for her people. I can respect that and so can you, right? And in case you were worried, I’m fairly certain she prefers women. Also she reminds me of Kaie.”

Now who was letting sentimentality get the better of him.

“In that case, seeing as you’re so keen, I’d better open negotiations with her, hadn’t I?” Elisif said sweetly. Before Madanach could react, Elisif had grabbed the elven locket from his waistcoat pocket and swept away with it clutched in her hands. Madanach could only stare after her before turning to three surprised advisors who’d understood none of that.

“She’s, er, gone to talk to the various candidates,” Madanach said, not sure quite how to sum that up. “You know Elisif, she’s either got to look at every single detail of a situation before making her mind up or just dives right in without thinking.”

Leliana smiled and nodded, and Cullen also understood this all too well. Josephine still looked shaken, but she pulled herself together. She might not agree with her Inquisitor’s decisions but she always followed.

Madanach just hoped his wife’s decision tonight was one _he_ could live with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ambassador Briala turned out to be on her own, out on one of the balconies, wearing a simple green dress and a mask that Elisif would later learn was a coquin mask, a mask normally worn by a servant. She looked bored and even a little depressed… until Elisif walked in.

Elisif hadn’t seen a woman brighten up to see her walk in before. Not like that. Briala’s expression reminded her of the way Maia reacted when she’d not seen her for a while.

But the expression was soon swiftly hidden as Briala pulled herself together.

“Inquisitor,” Briala said, smiling. “It’s a pleasure. You’ve spoken with your husband, I trust?”

“He had a lot to say,” Elisif said, sitting down on a marble bench and beckoning for Briala to join her. “He seems quite taken with you. I imagine one leader of a subjugated ethnic group who decided he’d had enough and began a rebellion would have a lot of time for another one. Me, I am a little less trusting.”

Briala’s smile faded but she did join Elisif on the bench.

“You supported the Forsworn,” Briala said quietly. “I know you were a prisoner and you had no choice but to trust him… but you did trust him and you made the Empire uphold the agreement to give him his own kingdom. You can’t give elves the same consideration?”

“Are you after your own kingdom?” Elisif asked. “I don’t really know what your actual aims are. Did you want the Dales back? I can’t see either candidate agreeing to that.”

“A voice would do,” Briala said bitterly. “An elven noble at court, to represent elven concerns. And to give nobles pause before casually calling us knife-ears. I’m not intending to lead a revolution, Elisif. I just want elves to be actors, not scenery. At the moment, we’re a backdrop to serve drinks and keep Halamshiral gleaming. No one even sees us. I want for that to change.”

“And you’d be that noble,” Elisif said, wondering if Briala’s personal ambitions were playing into this at all. Briala nodded, smile flickering on her face.

“Yes. And if you think the position of sole elven noble at court would be one of luxury and honour, you would be very very wrong. Everyone else would put aside their own power struggles and home in on me. Unless the Empress herself backed me. Or Emperor. I know Celene of old… but I know Gaspard too. Few bear more resentment against Celene than I… but she is more reasonable and persuadable than her cousin. Reason however is cautious. Reason favours order, slow change. Reason dislikes radical change even when that’s what’s necessary.” Briala looked up, brown elven eyes meeting hers from behind the mask.

“You strike me as a reasonable woman, but reason was not what guided you when you claimed your own throne. And if people called your husband reasonable, anyone who knew him would laugh.”

“No one’s calling him that, believe me,” Elisif snorted. And Nords weren’t exactly a people given to calm and sensible reflection either. Orlesians… well, they were a mix of both. Frivolity and flamboyancy on the outside but underneath the garish masks lurked self-interested pragmatism and fiendish cunning.

Under Briala’s seemed to be an elven woman sick of it all, but knowing she had to play the Game to help her people.

“You want elven voices heard,” Elisif said, to be sure she’d understood all this correctly. “But you could work with either Celene or Gaspard as ruler.”

“Yes!” Briala said, brightening up. “Celene’s more persuadable but after our falling out, I don’t think she’d trust me or want to listen. Gaspard’s as prejudiced against elves as any Orlesian but he does have a sense of honour, and he’s a simple man. Simple men aren’t hard to manipulate. I just need something on him.”

Something like a mercenary captain ready to turn on him, perhaps? But there was one last thing Elisif needed to know. She produced the locket, holding it out for Briala to see.

“If I told you we found this on Venatori agents who were looting Celene's vault at the time, what would you think?” Elisif asked. Briala’s eyes widened and Elisif knew she had her answer.

“Celene _kept_ it??” Briala gasped. “What was she _thinking??_ If anyone found out…! She would be ruined if this got out. A fling with an elven servant is one thing but to have kept their love token?”

“So it is yours,” Elisif said, feeling rather pleased with herself for finding that out. Briala nodded.

“My mother’s. I gave it to Celene in happier times… Maker, she can’t still… no. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything. Celene’s a born manipulator who will do whatever is necessary to keep her crown. I told you, Elisif. She’s reasonable. She doesn’t let her heart guide her in these matters.”

The defeat and bitterness in Briala’s voice was unmistakeable, and while Briala clearly still had feelings, it was going to take some doing to get her reconciled with Celene. Elisif put the locket away, wondering how Celene would react to it. Maybe it was time to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Elisif goes to meet Celene... and you'll also have noticed a distinct lack of Alistair while all this was going on. Next chapter we also find out what he's been up to.
> 
> From the department of missed tricks - I should have swapped Florianne's canon ballgown for a military suit and had her presenting as this very butch lesbian blatantly chatting Elisif up. Would have been hilarious. Alas. Too late now, I only just thought of it as I was posting...


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Elisif's been schmoozing, Alistair's been left to his own devices... which, given a certain someone has been itching to get him alone all evening, may not be a good idea. The results change everything, as the Game takes a treacherous turn, and it turns out someone is thinking several moves ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this is a chapter I've been looking forward to for ages, and seeing as the last one was short, you're getting a double-post! This is the one where I branched away from canon and developed some things specific to this universe. It may generate some emotional reactions. You've been warned!

Alistair for his part had been wandering around the palace, watching everyone get steadily drunker and less and less discreet. Once he might have been among them, but as it was, he was now the sober one in a room full of drunks. It wasn’t an appealing sight. Especially with no one to talk to.

Dorian was being ambushed by admirers after his display earlier. Varric was still doing book-signings. Elisif was off with Madanach having a heated discussion about politics after Madanach’s adventure in the servants’ wing which had left Cicero being carried out having been injured. Said jester was now lying on a couch in the ballroom lapping up sympathy from anyone who would fuss over him enough, which was a larger number of people than Alistair would have thought. Borkul was hanging around with the Montilyets getting an education on art history off the younger one. Cole was nowhere to be seen, Sera was busy pickpocketing valuables off nobles and wouldn’t want to be disturbed, Leliana had last been seen poring over scandals and secrets and making friendly small talk with people, and Alistair had no desire whatsoever to strike up conversation with Vivienne or Cullen.

So wander round the palace and listen in on people’s conversations it was then.

At least until three women appeared from nowhere and ambushed him. Celene’s ladies-in-waiting.

“Messere Alistair!”

“We have been looking all over the palace for you!”

“You must come at once! Your company is most urgently required in the ballroom!”

Without waiting for a response, Ladies Couteau and Colombe (possibly?) had grabbed his arms and were hauling him back to the ballroom, Lady probably-Fleur leading the way.

Who required his company was anyone’s guess… until it occurred to Alistair these were Celene’s personal ladies-in-waiting, who represented the Empress, and it probably wasn’t a coincidence they’d descended on him while Elisif was elsewhere.

Oh hell. Oh buggering bollocking hell. Alistair’s first and only instinct was to run screaming out of the palace… but even he knew that would be regarded as insufferably rude, and probably get them all thrown out. Damn it.

Through the ballroom, and it was just his luck that Vivienne was busy talking to the Dowager, and Cullen was being swarmed by Orlesian admirers, one of whom grabbed his bottom at precisely the wrong moment, and Leliana was having a very polite argument with Cicero over whether he really did need another shot of liqueur for his poor nerves, and that as a consequence no one in the Inquisition noticed him being abducted.

Which meant Alistair was on his own. All on his own even as Celene’s ladies swept him up to the Grand Balcony at the very head of the ballroom, where Empress Celene herself was pacing up and down, seemingly nervous about something.

Well that made two of them. Especially as she looked up to see him being ushered in and actually smiled.

Maker help him. He was utterly screwed and the worst thing was, Celene wasn’t even unattractive. On a purely physical level, he could certainly appreciate her charms. But on an emotional level… nothing. Just sheer terror at being left alone with an apex social predator like Celene.

_Stendarr, Mara, Dibella, Akatosh, Kyne, the other three I can never remember, HELP._

No help was forthcoming. The ladies melted away, and Celene approached, picking up two glasses of wine from a nearby table and offering him one.

Oh no. This was bad. This was very very bad but you didn’t just tell the Empress of Orlais you didn’t drink and turn it down. So he laughed nervously as she greeted him and beckoned him to join her at the edge of the balcony.

Alistair closed his eyes, took a deep breath, pretended to sip his wine, resisted with all his heart the temptation to chug down the entire thing, and went to stand alongside her, trying to look relaxed.

He was not remotely relaxed.

“Messere Alistair,” Celene said, her body facing out into the shadowed and misty Dales, but the Valmont mask turning to glance over her shoulder. It was a coquettish manoeuvre designed to entice and on a lesser man, it might have worked.

Only Alistair had already seen Madanach do it at Skyhold and the effect on his brain caused by such a feminine move on a man as definitely male as Madanach was not going to be replicated by Empress Celene any time soon. Particularly because his actual girlfriend didn’t do this sort of thing, Elisif was a very pretty woman who largely eschewed feminine wiles in favour of a queen’s directness and Alistair really really reacted to that.

_Apparently my type is men who act like women and women who act like men. I might be a bit weird._

Alistair really wished either one of them was here. But they weren’t. And here he was stuck with Celene.

“I’ve been wanting to get to know you better all night, messere,” Celene said, sounding almost demure. “It’s been so hard to get you alone.”

“What can I say, I’m a very friendly man,” Alistair managed to say, opting for babbling and not taking any of this seriously because if he did, he’d probably start screaming and not be able to stop, and that would definitely get the entire Inquisition evicted. “Everyone seems to want to talk to me.”

Celene looked him up and down, clearly liking what she saw.

“I’m not surprised,” she purred. “Orlais is very used indeed to married nobles taking paramours… but not to a married couple both setting their sights on the same one. You’re quite the curiosity, Alistair.”

_I bet I am._ Alistair laughed nervously, feeling his throat drying up. Wine would probably help with that. Like the glass in his hand. Just waiting for him to take a sip. One sip wouldn’t do any harm, would it?

Alistair tightened his grip on the glass, wishing his hand would stop shaking.

“Tell me, how does that actually work?” Celene continued. “Are there arguments? Jealousy? Couples who marry for the Game alone rarely care if their partner takes a lover, but Al – Elisif and Madanach married for love, did they not? And here they are both separately desiring the same man. Do they never get jealous of each other?”

“If they do, they don’t discuss it in front of me, Your Majesty,” Alistair said, fairly certain that jealousy hadn’t really reared its head so far. In fact they seemed as happy with each other as they’d ever been.

“Oh, you can call me Celene,” Celene said, moving closer. “But all the same, it cannot be easy sharing a lover. Knowing that you can never have all of them. There’s always a part of them belonging to their spouse. You can’t marry either of them after all.”

Alistair said nothing, because his mother had said similar things and he’d not cared then. He didn’t care now… but here he was, cut off and alone. Because they were both having some conversation in their own language that didn’t include him. And they had that empathy bond, didn’t they? They could sense each other. They knew the other’s emotions. It had stopped many an argument before now. So much harder to shout at somebody when you could feel the hurt it caused, or convince yourself they didn’t care when you could feel they still did.

If either of them could feel his emotional state right now they’d be on their way, telling him to hold on, he wasn’t alone, they were coming to rescue him. But they couldn’t. And they weren’t. And for the first time since he’d kissed Elisif in the tunnels under Haven, Alistair began to resent them.

_Where are you, and why is your connection with each other respected when mine with you is not being._

“You must have wondered whether it might be better having someone who could devote themselves to you when you needed them,” Celene was saying. “A lawful spouse all of your own. You’re an attractive man, Alistair. You could have that, you know.”

“Right,” Alistair whispered, heart pounding and knowing in his heart where this was going and wanting nothing more than to run away and find his lovers and cling to them both. “I mean, right?”

_No. Not right! Very very wrong!_ But you didn’t just say no to the Empress of Orlais.

Celene must have seen his nerves, because she’d gently touched his hand and then made a point of straightening up and putting some distance between them.

“You were raised by the Chantry, weren’t you,” Celene said, as if the previous conversation had never happened. Alistair could have collapsed from relief… but alas, the reprieve was to be shortlived.

“I was sent to a monastery when I was ten years old,” Alistair told her warily, sure she’d probably been told all this already. “They were training me for the Templars… but then the Wardens recruited me instead. I never looked back.”

“Indeed,” Celene said, frowning slightly as if this wasn’t quite the answer she’d wanted to hear. “But you are still Andrastian, no?”

Not remotely, but damned if he was telling Empress Celene that. 

“I’m not really a pious man, Your Majesty,” Alistair said, choosing his words carefully. “I leave all that to the priests. Just show me the foe and let me get on with it.”

“Is that so,” Celene said thoughtfully. “Well, Corypheus is the foe for now, but that will not always be the case. One day, that threat will be laid to rest and the Chantry will have a new Divine. And then maybe there will be new threats. Such as Andraste’s own birthplace rejecting Her Chantry. You have never liked the Mac Tirs, no?”

“Not exactly?” Alistair said, not at all liking where this was going. “But Anora’s the rightful queen. And she’s doing a good job and people like her.”

“Perhaps they do, but that was before she declared her entire country apostate,” Celene said, narrowing her eyes. “I imagine not all in Ferelden approve. An Orlesian invasion would be resisted… but an Exalted March from the true Chantry? That might not be. Especially if it were led by one of Calenhad’s line. How many in Ferelden might change their minds if the true king reclaimed his throne for the true Chantry?”

Alistair nearly dropped his glass, not sure he was hearing this… but of course he was. Of course Celene was thinking several moves ahead. Of course she didn’t approve of the Fereldan Chantry. Alistair wasn’t entirely sure he did… but he’d left the faith and it wasn’t his problem, and his girlfriend was in favour of it.

And he did not want to be king. Not of Ferelden, not of anywhere else. He’d rather be out there, helping people. Or in Tamriel, alongside its beautiful Empress and her crazy mage consort with his seductive wiles that tended to look fake on women but suited him beautifully.

Now how to tell the Empress of Orlais where to stick her Exalted March without getting them all evicted from the palace.

“Your Majesty!” That was one of the ladies. “Your Majesty, we apologise for disturbing you, but the Herald of Andraste has very important news that cannot wait!”

The lady (Alistair still couldn't tell them apart) stepped back to reveal Elisif in the doorway, an elven locket in her hands… but her eyes fell on Alistair and the drink in his hands and him clearly looking far too friendly with Celene, and Alistair saw the betrayal in her eyes and it broke his heart.

“You’re drinking,” was all Elisif said, sounding close to emotionless but Alistair didn’t need a bond to know what she was thinking. She must be thinking he was going to leave her.

“I… have a drink. In my hand. And… you don’t, we need to fix that, don’t we!” Alistair said, far too cheerfully as he crossed the balcony, kissed her on the cheek, placed the glass of wine in her free hand and slid an arm round her waist.

“Thuri, help me,” he whispered, knowing enough Tamrielic to say that much. “She… no. Help me!”

Elisif smiled a little on hearing this, leaning into him a little, the hand not clutching the wine glass on his.

“Yes,” she whispered to him, and then she was approaching Celene, holding out the locket. A locket Celene had not taken her eyes off since she’d walked in with it. The Empress of Orlais looked horrified by it, horrified and wrongfooted and some part of Alistair thought that was _brilliant._ Elisif had managed to rattle Celene just by turning up, and this was going to be amazing.

“Where did you find that,” Celene whispered, not even the mask and make-up hiding the blood draining from her face.

“Venatori agents were breaking into your vault,” Elisif said crisply. “My people interrupted them but found they’d already lifted this. One of them wondered why the Empress of Orlais bothered to put a not terribly valuable elven relic in a high security vault or even have it at all, and so they brought it to me. Might this have something to do with your former liaison with Ambassador Briala?”

Celene inhaled, closing her eyes and clearly getting her emotions under control.

“She gave it to me, yes,” Celene said stiffly. “I thought it best to put it away for safekeeping.”

Elisif didn’t even look surprised. 

“She left you, Celene,” Elisif said quietly. “Why keep it at all? Unless… you still have feelings for her and couldn't bear to throw it away.”

Celene closed her eyes, turning away, and Alistair did not ever think he’d get to see the Empress of Orlais wounded like this.

“It was a foolish thing to do,” Celene said, staring out into the darkness. “I don’t even know why I kept it.” 

She turned back to Elisif, blue eyes glittering from behind the mask.

“I loved Briala once, but she wanted more than I could give her. She wanted radical change – more change than Orlais would stand for. I can pass laws but laws cannot change people’s hearts and minds. I can only do so much… but Briala never understood that.”

“Because you’re a woman of reason,” Elisif said, voice growing cold. “I understand.”

Alistair had a feeling Elisif understood rather more than she was saying, and inwardly he was cheering her on. She was winning this one, and he was so so proud of her.

“Indeed,” Celene said, glaring at Elisif, her voice frosty. “Keep the necklace, Your Worship. It means nothing to me now. Alistair. It was a pleasure to speak with you. Should you have thoughts of your own on what we discussed, do please get in touch. We would be delighted to hear from you.”

Celene turned away, and they were clearly dismissed. Elisif bowed and led Alistair out.

They’d barely made it off the balcony before Alistair turned to Elisif and pulled her into his arms, proud of her but also terrified he was about to get dumped over this, because walking in on him with Celene was probably a dumping offence, wasn’t it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry. Celene’s ladies practically dragged me in there and I was afraid to run away. Please don’t leave me.”

He was shaking all over but he didn’t care. Let Elisif feel it. He loved her more than anything because she was beautiful and passionate and bright and…

She’d put the wine glass down on a nearby table, turned to face him, and next thing he knew, she was kissing him. Never mind the party. This part of the ballroom wasn’t brilliantly lit anyway. 

“She can’t have you,” Elisif hissed. “You’re _mine!_ ”

Alistair pulled her closer, moaning as he kissed her neck, leading her into a dark corner so they could get a bit of privacy, because he wanted her, now more than ever, because hearing her say that turned him on like nothing else.

“Yes, I’m yours,” Alistair promised. “Forever and always, gods I love you.”

Elisif stopped for breath, head resting against his forehead.

“I love you too,” Elisif whispered, and then she pushed him away and settled him down in a vacant chair while she retrieved her wine and sat next to him.

“So what did Celene want,” Elisif said, taking his hand in hers. “As if I can’t guess.”

“She wants to invade Ferelden, restore the Orlesian Chantry and depose Anora,” Alistair said bitterly. “And she’s going to get the next Divine to declare an Exalted March so it doesn’t look like an Orlesian power grab. She thought I might make a good replacement king, and I think she’s offering to marry me if I said yes. She was saying all this stuff implying that you two love each other more than me and wouldn't I be happier with a wife all of my own. Well no. No I fucking wouldn't. I love you, because you’re amazing and fierce and brilliant and no one’s ever said they’d fight for me before, except maybe Duncan conscripting me into the Wardens but it’s not quite the same now I know he was essentially my dad. And I love Madanach because men aren’t supposed to be seductive but he is and it’s the sexiest thing ever. And I love Maia because she’s tiny and sweet and really looks up to me and she keeps cuddling me and telling me she loves me.”

Elisif closed her eyes, looking like she was about to cry. When she finally open them and spoke, the words weren’t what Alistair had expected.

“Is this how political decisions that shape entire nations are supposed to get made,” Elisif whispered. “Because a lonely man with a troubled past fell in love with a married couple and the wife just refused to let him go?”

“There’s worse reasons,” Alistair said, squeezing her hand and smiling at her despite the tears in his eyes. Elisif laughed and reached for her wine glass, taking a draught from it.

“Fuck reason,” Elisif announced, turning to him with bright eyes. “Want to fight some demons?”

After all this? Yes please. Alistair grinned and told her to lead the way, and Elisif took his hand, smiling the smile that had changed politics before when the Scourge of the Nords saw it and changed his entire political direction for a hope of seeing it again.

Alistair had already made his mind up, had made the decision on some level in a Venatori prison cell when the sexy-voiced apostate in the next cell had started talking about his Blight-free, Chantry-free homeland. But seeing that smile on Elisif’s face cemented it. He was definitely doing the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do like how this turned out. Feel free to flail in the comments! Next chapter's the denouement! Hope you're looking forward to it as much as I am.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening reaches its climax, as Elisif chases a lead and unmasks the Venatori agent... but the assassination plans are in progress. Can she stop them before it's too late? And in the aftermath of it all, will Orlais ever be the same again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been ages, so you're getting a double post! It's the Halamshiral denouement and wrap-up. By the end of the chapter, you'll know who's in charge of Orlais. I hope you like it. I did my best to make it exciting.
> 
> Notes on the Tamrielic:
> 
> Hemvel Cicero lebt servito - Humble Cicero lives to serve
> 
> Va l'Imperio - For the Empire
> 
> Eminenza - Your Eminence/title for the Empress
> 
> Guerrino - soldier

It had been simple after that. Elisif had got up, gone to speak to Cicero, reminded him to keep watch, keep an eye on Florianne de Chalons, now their prime suspect, but mainly to keep an eye on Celene, watch out for the assassination attempt.

“It’ll likely happen when the attention of the court is on her, while she’s giving her speech,” Elisif whispered. “That’s when you need to be on alert.” And then she’d leaned in closer and switched to Tamrielic, lowering her voice.

“Hemvel Cicero lebt servito,” Cicero had murmured, eyes lighting up. “Va l’Imperio, Eminenza!”

Elisif had looked a bit surprised at that, but responded in kind with a “va l’Imperio, guerrino!”

For the Empire. Odd that Cicero would say that. Elisif seemed a bit surprised too.

“He was neutral during the civil war because he’s not a Talos-worshipper… but his mother was a Legionnaire and apparently there’s some patriotism in there somewhere,” Elisif said, shrugging. “I think he mostly wanted to salute me but didn’t have any other words to do it with so he went the Imperial route with it.”

Alistair wasn’t entirely sure this was the full explanation but without knowing the orders she’d given him, he wouldn’t know for sure. So he followed Elisif, waited while Borkul and Dorian emerged, and then Cole opened the door to the Royal Wing, already in his fighting gear.

“Your things are here. Hurry!”

Much fussing around to get three heavily armoured warriors armed and armoured, and one fussy mage into his gear, and then they were off, Borkul leading the way until they reached the door the rift lay behind, hearing its distinctive hissing… and the voice of a Fereldan man, shouting.

“You painted Orlesian arseholes!”

“All right, let’s get in there,” Elisif said, kicking the door open and striding in.

The door led into a courtyard, with the rift hovering in the middle of it. The mercenary captain was tied up by the terrace, struggling against his bonds…and too late Elisif realised the painted Orlesian arseholes were still there, archers on the top of the balcony and stationed round the ground terrace too.

Behind them, two Harlequins slipped through the door, sealing it behind them. They were trapped.

“Inquisitor!” Florianne called cheerfully as she emerged on to the balcony, smirking down at her. “I wasn’t sure if you’d fallen for my bait. You’re so hard to read.”

“I knew it was you,” Elisif hissed. Alas, pleasure at being right didn’t change the fact they were surrounded and outnumbered. Florianne just smiled.

“And you walked into my trap anyway,” Florianne gloated. “Typical Avvar barbarian. You were never going to beat Orlais at the Game.”

“You’re plotting to murder your own Empress!” Elisif shouted. “You’re going to commit treason!”

“Yes I am,” Florianne said, amused. “While letting my brother take the fall as mastermind. It doesn’t matter. By the time our cases come to trial, Corypheus will have invaded, thrown down Orlais and he will reward me with the throne in gratitude for the power vacuum that let it happen.”

“You will never get away with this!” Alistair shouted from beside her. “The Inquisition’s going to stop you!”

“Oh but I already have!” Florianne purred, deigning to spare Alistair a glance. “In their darkest dreams, no one would ever expect that I would assassinate the Empress myself!”

Well, she was right, Elisif certainly hadn’t seen that coming. Florianne had assassins on the payroll and yet wanted to do the deed personally??

Even Elisif, angry at Celene as she was, would never have carried out the assassination _personally_. Her incomprehension must have shown on her face… but Florianne really wasn’t good at reading her because she mistook it for shock.

“I’ve already won, Inquisitor,” Florianne purred. “You’re at my mercy, and your maleficar husband isn’t even close to being the leader you are. With you gone, who will stop me? All I have to do is keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike. Kill her! And bring me her marked hand as proof.”

Florianne turned round and swept out, her guards following her – and the archers remaining raised their bows to fire. It might have gone ill for Elisif… but Elisif Stormbreaker always did one thing as a mother that other parents often failed to. She listened to her child… and occasionally learnt something.

“BEX!”

The rift promptly opened, and Oblivion came to play, demons springing out and two of those terror demons upending the archers who’d been aiming for her exposed face. Dorian cast his barrier, Cole went to stealth and three warriors charged into action, screaming battle cries.

With the demons and Orlesians busy fighting each other, it made the Inquisition’s job easier, and the fight was soon won, with Elisif sealing the rift before turning to where Alistair and Cole were freeing the Fereldan mercenary and helping him up.

“It’s all right,” Alistair was telling him. “I’m Fereldan too – you can probably tell. We’re the Inquisition! You’re safe now.”

“Maker’s Breath,” the man gasped. “Were those demons?”

“Yes,” Cole said, taking the question at face value. “Those were demons. The rift opened into the Fade and when the Herald’s Thu’um shattered the sky, the demons fell out of the Fade. And now they’re gone.”

“Ri-ight,” the Fereldan said, edging nervously away from Cole. “Is he, er…?”

“Don’t worry, he’s friendly,” Elisif said, sheathing Dawnbreaker. “Are you Gaspard’s mercenary captain.”

“I was,” the captain confirmed. “He’s trying to launch a coup tonight to get his throne off that bint in the mask, but he didn’t have enough fancy chevaliers. So he hired me and my men. Had to pay us triple our usual pay to come out here. I must say, I didn’t think he’d feed me to fucking horrors over a damn bill.”

“You think this was over a bill?” Elisif asked, glancing at Alistair and wondering how anyone could think this was just to get out of paying his mercenaries.

“Of course it was,” the man snapped. “All that garbage she was spewing doesn’t mean anything. Gaspard had to be the mastermind.”

“Of course,” Elisif said faintly. “But… you were definitely hired to help overthrow Celene, right? You’d be willing to swear that Gaspard came here intending to carry out a coup, wouldn't you?”

“After this? I’d sing a song in the blasted Chantry if I thought it’d help you twist ‘em up,” the captain said fervently. “Bloody Orlesians, knew we should have signed up with you lot instead. You lot have got the right idea. Standing up for what’s right, helping good Queen Anora set up her own Chantry. Good on her, sending the fucking cheesemongers packing at last. Andraste was one of us! A Fereldan! We don’t need the stinking Orlesians telling us what’s right or wrong. We can work it out for ourselves.”

“Then come join us,” Elisif said, holding out her hand. “We can always use a good mercenary company. If you report to our commander, Cullen, he’ll look after you.”

“Lady Herald, I would be honoured,” the captain agreed, shaking her hand. “You and Warden Alistair there, you’re real heroes, you are. You was robbed at that Landsmeet, ser – not that Queen Anora’s not good at her job, of course. But you and the Inquisitor, you’re the real deal. Heroes, not politicians. Need more of your kind.”

He shook Alistair’s hand as well, and Alistair had gone scarlet but kept his composure well enough to thank the man before letting him limp off.

“Right, that’s over with, let’s go,” Elisif said, glancing around to see which doors actually opened. “We need to get back to the ballroom.”

Borkul remembered the way, and Cole was already pointing the door out, and the five of them took off.

“Will we make it in time?” Alistair asked, looking nervous. Elisif nodded, remembering her words to Cicero.

“Yes,” Elisif promised. “And even if we don’t, it doesn’t matter. I might not be in that ballroom, but Madanach is… and so’s Cicero.”

“But he’s confined to the chaise – wait,” Dorian said, frowning. “You aren’t seriously telling me he’s actually ready to fight.”

“Course he’s ready to fight, boss has healed worse and had them back up and fighting in half an hour,” Borkul snorted, glancing over his shoulder. “Cicero’s just playing up for the attention.”

Which was what Elisif was counting on.

“He knows his business,” Elisif said confidently. “If we’re not there to stop her, he will be. Come on, let’s go!”

Through the corridors of the palace, finding more Venatori in the chapel, and after that, Harlequins lying in wait near the ballroom itself. All fell easily before two Dragonborns, one Orc, one necromancer and a spirit whose stabbing abilities rivalled Cicero’s.

“It’s great being able to shout their weapons out of their hands,” Alistair said, grinning. “Did you see that Harlequin’s reaction when he realised he didn’t have his knives any more?”

“But he had a mask on,” Cole said, confused. Alistair just patted Cole on the back.

“It was all in the shoulders, mate,” Alistair said cheerfully. “Which way now, down there or…?”

“No, it’s this way,” Cole whispered, pointing ahead to the main door. Elisif took off, the others behind her, and minutes later Elisif finally stumbled into the ballroom, drawing the attention of those nearby… two of whom were Madanach and Cullen, both moving to her side immediately.

“Gaspard’s mercenary captain turned himself in about a minute ago, promising to sell him down the river and that you’d offered him a job,” Cullen said, curious. 

“That’s right,” Elisif whispered, scanning the ballroom. There. Both Chalons siblings, neither glancing in her direction, making their way up the other side of the ballroom to where Celene was preparing to speak. Both taking their positions… and behind them, Cicero’s couch. Empty. No sign of him anywhere. 

This was either very good or very bad. Elisif took off the Jagged Crown and placed it on the floor, needing the weight off her head for a bit.

“So, what are we doing?” Madanach asked. “Celene’s about to start her speech. Cicero’s fucked off. Are we intervening or not?”

“Cicero’s knives, motley and that new mask of his, were they under the couch where we left them?” Elisif whispered. Madanach shook his head, lips quirking into a smile.

“No. We don’t know where he is, but he’s armed and dangerous. Of course, that means Florianne doesn’t know where he is either. It is her, yes?”

“It’s her,” Elisif confirmed. “Cullen, wait. Don’t do anything. Cicero’s got this one.”

“As you wish, Inquisitor,” Cullen said, nodding and withdrawing with a bow, looking surprisingly OK with this course of action. Despite his faith taking priority, he was still Fereldan.

Madanach, needless to say, was leaning against the handrail, settling in to watch, already looking forward to it.

One of the heralds announced the Empress, and Celene stepped forward, taking up position at the head of the ballroom, nodding at the assembled nobles on the dancefloor below… and Gaspard standing alone on the mezzanine beneath her. Florianne seemed to have faded from view.

“My friends! We have all lost much to this war. We have all seen a friend, relative, lover, consigned to the flames! But though darkness closes in, there is still light. We must be that light! We must lead our people through these troubled times. We must be their guiding star!”

That would have impressed Elisif more if she hadn’t known damn well Celene had been using the royal we to refer to herself. But her attention wasn’t on Celene. It was on the shadowed rear of the ballroom. Because the form of a Harlequin had slumped to the floor as the crowd had started applauding Celene, the noise obscuring the death gurgle and the thud. The Harlequin was in Orlesian patchwork, not red motley.

“Yes. Come on,” Elisif whispered, knowing her duellist and assassin was out there, doing what he did best.

“Tonight the war dividing us must end!” Celene cried, before turning and holding out a hand to Florianne, who sashayed out to join her with hardly a care in the world.

“My friends,” Florianne announced, smiling at the gathered throng. “We are gathered here tonight to witness a historic occasion! A great change is coming! Isn’t that right, Gaspard.”

Florianne’s voice had lowered as she circled behind Celene, moving in for the kill. No sign of Cicero anywhere.

“Cicero, come on,” Elisif whispered, aware of Madanach gripping the rail and Alistair taking her hand.

“He’s… going to intervene, right?” Alistair whispered. “He’s going to strike any time now, isn’t he?”

“I’m sure he will,” Elisif said, squeezing Alistair’s hand. _Come on, Cicero. You’ve got this!_

No sign of Cicero. Florianne smiled, a venomous, evil smile of a predator who knew this battle was won, and that no one could stop her now… and one hand pressed against Celene’s chest while the other shoved a dagger up and under the ribcage, right through Celene’s diaphragm and into her lung, the tip coming out the other side.

Celene couldn’t even get the breath to cry out, just making an incoherent noise of pain as blood fell from her chest and bubbled from her lips, and Florianne laughed as she ripped the dagger out and let Celene fall.

Celene fell to the ground, coughing as she lay on the floor, breathing out her last on fine marble as her cousin stepped back triumphantly… and then a red blur leapt from the shadows, black dagger in hand, pouncing on Florianne and neatly drawing a red line across her throat.

Florianne reached for her throat, and then the blood loss from the severed arteries got the better of her and she fell to the floor to join her already cooling cousin in a pile of silk and blood.

Another Harlequin emerged from the other curtain, knife in hand and making for Cicero, determined to avenge her mistress even if the plan had gone horribly wrong, and the purloined mask turned to face her.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!”

Fire took her screaming to the Maker’s side, and Cicero cleaned his dagger off on Florianne’s dress, appearing oblivious to the screaming that had just broken out as the horror sank in, and more Harlequins emerged, intent on causing maximum carnage – or possibly just settling grudges, it was difficult to tell in Orlais. 

Elisif closed her eyes, letting her husband deal with this one. The Reach’s greatest illusionist was already casting, had been since Celene fell, the gestures and words of a mass calming spell weaving together and then blasting out across the ballroom… and Harlequin knives clattered to the floor, screaming and fleeing nobles all stopped in their tracks, sinking into chairs or just sitting on the floor in confusion.

And Cullen’s soldiers all stepped forward, calm but their minds still clear because they’d expected this and had orders.

“INQUISITION! ARREST THE HARLEQUINS!” Madanach bellowed across the room. “APART FROM THE FIREBREATHING ONE IN THE POINTY HAT AND RED SHIRT, HE’S A GOOD BOY WHO’S GETTING A BONU- er, I MEAN HE’S ON OUR SIDE!”

Cicero practically preened as he sheathed his knives and scampered off, but not before turning back and saluting Elisif. 

Elisif had opened her eyes by this point, seeing the gesture and knowing it for what it was. A loyal son of Cyrodiil saluting his Empress.

“Va l’Imperio,” Elisif whispered, knowing in her heart that while she couldn’t feel joy over this, they’d had a choice tonight – or no choice in the years to come.

“You knew he was going to do that,” Alistair said, his tone accusing and hostile and… Elisif looked up and suddenly no longer felt so sure she’d done the right thing. “That was what you were telling him to do! Let the attack happen then deal with Florianne!”

“Sure was,” Madanach purred, eyes still on where the last of the Harlequins were being rounded up and marched off. And all Elisif could do was nod. Guilty as charged.

“You said you wanted someone who’d fight for you,” Elisif whispered, blinking back tears. “Well, when I go into battle, people die!”

“You weren’t going to tell me?” Alistair whispered, looking heartbroken. Elisif couldn't meet his eyes.

“Need to know only,” Elisif said, not quite able to keep the tremor out of her voice. “She was going to invade your homeland, Alistair! Even without you siding with her, she was more than capable of doing it! Don’t tell me you’re mourning her!”

“I’m not!” Alistair protested. “I’m just… Maker, Elisif, you’re really fucking _ruthless_ sometimes!”

She knew that. And all the guilt in the world wouldn’t change the fact she’d just ordered an Empress killed, and would likely get away with it. Because the assassination plot was someone else’s that she’d taken advantage of. Because Cicero had spent half the evening playing the wilting little flower and could credibly claim he’d tried his best but not got there in time. Because the best players of the Game in all Orlais had seen their best try to steal Elisif’s boyfriend and not only not succeed but end up dead by the end of the evening… and the Game being what it was, they’d acknowledge a new master and quietly applaud her skills.

It was bitterly ironic Alistair might be about to leave her over it anyway. Unlike Madanach, who’s triumphant glee had turned to worry for her, she couldn't feel Alistair. She only had body language to go on and right now she couldn't even bear to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn't bear to lose you.”

Madanach had drawn nearer, hand on her back to comfort her, but it wasn’t him who’d just taken her left hand and squeezed it.

“You had an Empress killed because you loved me?” Alistair said, voice quivering as he stepped nearer. Elisif nodded.

“Yes. I mean… there were other reasons. It could have gone either way… but that was what decided me. I couldn't let you go.”

Elisif felt tears in her eyes as her throat closed up, and she was this close to crying… and then she felt Madanach step back as Alistair’s arms went round her, and despite the steel plate armour they were both still wearing, he still managed to feel comforting.

“I think I must be deeply messed-up, because Mara help me, I think I still love you.”

“Even after all this?” Elisif managed to gasp, and Alistair nodded.

“Even after all this,” Alistair whispered, and she felt him kiss the top of her head. Elisif held him closer, about ready to collapse with relief as she realised he’d forgiven her. “I don’t think I can exactly celebrate tonight… but I don’t want to lose you and I’m glad you thought I was worth fighting back for.” He leaned closer and whispered the next bit in her ear.

“Also I’m a bit turned on. Seeing you defeat a rival apparently does it for me. I might be a bad person.”

Elisif giggled, shooting a glance at Madanach, who was leaning on the rail, watching them indulgently.

“I think you’re still a better person than Madanach. He’s not even pretending to be unhappy. In fact, come to think of it, why aren’t you upset with him?”

“Because he didn’t give the order,” Alistair said, meeting Madanach’s eyes and grinning. “Also I know he’s a bastard.”

Madanach had the nerve to pout, before a scuffle seemed to break out over on the other side of the ballroom, attracting his attention. When he saw what was happening, his smile faded and he nudged Elisif.

“Never mind that. We have a problem. They’re arresting Gaspard.”

Elisif turned and saw a small squad of the Imperial Guard surrounding the Grand Duke, ordering him to come quietly, he was under arrest for conspiracy to murder Empress Celene.

“What?? I didn’t do anything!” Gaspard cried. “I had no idea what she was planning!”

“That’s for a court to decide,” the guard captain snapped. “Without an Empress, it’ll be the Council of Heralds hearing the case. Same Council you’ve been sending death threats to all year. Don’t worry. Nobles get beheading, you won’t get hung, drawn and quartered.”

Oh good heavens, this was exactly what couldn’t happen. Elisif picked up the Jagged Crown, placed it on her head (always better to look taller than she actually was in these matters) and raced to the stairs then down onto the dance floor.

“WAIT!” Elisif cried. “This is an Inquisition investigation! In Andraste’s name, I demand the right to question the Grand Duke! We have evidence that Empress Celene’s murder was being orchestrated by Corypheus. I need to talk to the Grand Duke about his possible involvement.”

“This is most irregular,” the guard captain said dubiously… but one of the others spoke up.

“Philippe. She is the Herald. And we all know the Inquisition knows many things we don’t. We should let her talk to him.”

“Yes you should.”

The imperious tones of the Dowager, who Elisif had been chatting to earlier, and who Alistair had even offered a dance to, apparently feeling much safer with a dowager in her eighties than with Celene. She’d laughed and said they both had other dances to perform first but maybe later. And now here she was, the head of the Council of Heralds herself. And behind her, the other Council members who were here tonight… and Vivienne, smiling knowingly, taking the Duke de Ghislain’s place.

“The Inquisitor’s people have been diligently tracking Venatori activity all evening and been talking to all sorts of people,” the Dowager intoned. “Enchanter Vivienne here’s been telling me all about it. Orlais is being attacked at her very heart by these Venatori agents of Corypheus. They have already killed our beloved Empress, and they have also claimed the life of one of our own attaches. Florianne was in league with him… but was her brother? Gaspard’s made too many enemies on the Council for us to try him fairly. But the Herald is impartial. So do as she asks. Turn Gaspard over to her and let her decide.”

Elisif let out the breath she’d been holding and thanked the Dowager, as the guards let Gaspard go.

“Come on, Grand Duke,” Elisif said, indicating for him to follow. “Let’s discuss this on the Grand Balcony.”

Gaspard was too relieved at the reprieve to object, but his relief was shortlived when Elisif called for Ambassador Briala to join them.

Briala had been standing off to one side when the attack had happened, and she’d barely moved since, only sinking on to a nearby chaise with her head in her hands.

“Ambassador?” Elisif called, starting to worry about the elf. “Briala?”

Briala looked up on hearing her name, seeming surprised to see concern on Elisif’s face.

“I… yes of course, Inquisitor,” Briala said, getting to her feet and approaching. Despite the mask, Elisif could see reddened eyes and tearstains on Briala’s brown skin, and for the first time, she started to have real doubts. Briala had given every impression of being unwilling to consider going back to Celene – but here she was, genuinely grieving.

Of course, Gaspard wasn’t the type to care about that.

“You’re inviting the rabbit to join us??” Gaspard cried. Ironically, this was what prompted Briala to pull herself together. 

“I’m here at the Inquisitor’s request, Gaspard, as are you,” Briala said, narrowing her eyes. “And unlike you, I’m not at risk of arrest if these talks don’t succeed. No one’s going to believe Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons was working with a knife-ear, after all.”

“Briala’s agents were murdered by your sister’s agents tonight,” Elisif said firmly. “Of everyone here, she’s one of the few who’s _not_ a suspect. I think someone with a network of spies might have something useful for me. Come on.”

Elisif led them on to the balcony, Gaspard and Briala still glaring at each other, Madanach following and casting muffling spells to ensure privacy, while Inquisition guards took up positions in front of the balcony door. And so four politicians faced each other, Orlais’s fate in the balance.

“I didn’t know about Florianne,” Gaspard began, his defensiveness not helping his cause. “She never told me any of this! I had no idea she was working with Corypheus!”

“You don’t keep any track of what your sister's up to?” Madanach asked, incredulous. “Even knowing her??” Even if he didn’t always understand Keirine’s research, he’d always made a point of keeping up with what she was doing.

“I’m a soldier, not a spy!” Gaspard shouted. “You might ask the Ambassador here what she knew! She was the one with spies all over the palace! Not all the murders tonight were committed by the Venatori, Herald.”

“In Orlesian politics, murder and intrigue barely count as trying, Gaspard,” Briala sniffed. “You know that as well as I, or at least, you should. Honestly, I don’t know what’s funnier, that you think we believe you’re innocent or that you think I’m all-seeing.”

“I’m aware of Briala’s machinations,” Elisif sighed. “I’m also certain this is going to stop now the war’s over. I’m sure Ambassador Briala can respect the rule of law in times of peace. Particularly if she gets a voice in writing it, isn’t that right, Briala?”

“I can be reasonable – wait,” Briala said, looking up sharply. “What are you suggesting, Herald?”

Elisif smiled and decided it was time to set out how this was going to go.

“Florianne confessed to me she was working for Corypheus, but we’ve only got your word for it that you weren’t involved. What I do have is your mercenary captain who’s willing to testify that you were sneaking soldiers in with the intent to launch a coup against Celene. He also seems to think you were the mastermind behind the assassination and Florianne was working for you. Now, he might be wrong. But you were up in arms against the lawful ruler. Where else does that end but with her dead at your feet?”

“I didn’t want her dead!” Gaspard cried, throwing up his hands in panic. “We’re not barbarians! Once she’d been stood down, I would have been quite happy to allow her to take vows and become a Chantry sister!”

“Celene in the Chantry, I’d have loved to see that,” Madanach snorted. “A Mother in two years, Revered Mother of her convent in five, the next Divine has a tragic accident and she’s on the Sunburst Throne in a decade. That woman was never not going to be a thorn in someone’s ass until she died.”

Elisif noticed Briala flinch and pointedly coughed, inclining her head in Briala’s direction. And Madanach saw Briala looking very pale and pinched, and took the hint.

“So what do we do, Elisif,” Madanach said gruffly. “We’ve got a lot of evidence against him. We could overlook the sabre-rattling but he was planning a coup. Even if he didn’t know Florianne was working for Corypheus, he was definitely planning an attack. Vivienne and I were able to get into the trophy room that he’s been using as his office all evening. We found orders to his chevaliers organising an attack signal.”

“And was that attack signal my cousin’s murder?” Gaspard snapped. “No, of course not. I didn’t know what she was planning. I brought soldiers along because I expected betrayal. Just… not by my own sister.”

Gaspard sighed, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing viciously at his mask, as if he wanted the thing off his face and the Game done with, and Elisif recalled he’d lost a sister and cousin both tonight. How close he’d been to Celene was debatable given the age gap, but if Florianne had been able to organise these talks, both he and Celene must have respected her.

“Well, Gaspard, here’s the two options on the table,” Elisif said, doing her best to sound sympathetic and reasonable. “I could go back out there and tell the Dowager your mercenary captain thinks you were behind it all, and give her the orders we found in that trophy room. I could do that. Of course, the Council might well have a trial and find you innocent… but you’ve not exactly given them a reason to sympathise, have you. And even if you’re found not guilty, your reputation and honour are forever tarnished by the whole thing. Your retirement from public life will be inevitable. No Emperor’s mask for you.”

It was a mark of how badly Gaspard’s evening was going that he didn’t even bother pleading for his life any more.

“And the other option?” Gaspard asked, voice heavy and weary, clearly regretting a great many things, both tonight and in the past year or so.

Elisif stepped forward, placing her hands on his shoulders. Of all the people here, Gaspard was a fellow warrior. Although some might think she was more like Celene than anyone, people needed to remember that not only had she killed Alduin, she was also a Nord and all Nords understood honour.

“Orlais needs a leader and you are the last remaining grandchild of Emperor Judicael I,” Elisif told him, recalling the books on the Orlesian royal family she’d read, desperately hoping for some titbit that would help her out tonight. “Corypheus is organising an army of demons and planning to invade Orlais with it. If Orlais doesn’t have a strong leader who can organise a defence, Orlais will fall.”

Gaspard looked up, his eyes widening as he realised the true extent of the crisis.

“Are you serious – Maker, you are serious. Rabbit, did you know about this??”

“I don’t know everything!” Briala cried. “Particularly not the Inquisition’s secrets – do you think we want to step on the Nightingale’s toes??”

“We don’t want to start a panic,” Elisif told him. “And I am looking into depriving Corypheus of his demon army. But the threat is real, and Orlais does not have time for the Council to start choosing a new ruler. You know Orlais, as soon as they pick someone, a dozen challengers will rise. But you – you do have a claim, the best one out of any of them. We already have the Chantry flailing and utterly failing to do anything about Corypheus or the mage-templar war or the rifts. We cannot have Orlais doing the same. So. If you’re prepared to commit Orlesian forces to the Inquisition’s efforts, we’re prepared to go back out there and tell the Dowager you didn’t know anything about the assassination. The chevaliers follow you, but the rank and file infantry of the Imperial Army stayed loyal to Celene. They’ll find it a lot easier to fall in with the man they were fighting until recently if you can give them a common cause to rally around. I can give you that cause. They’ll follow an Emperor who wants them to fight to save Orlais and the world, and when we win, they’ll be too busy celebrating to remember you were their enemy once.”

Gaspard met her gaze, a smile twitching on his lips as he recalled he was a fighter, not a socialite, and the thought of getting out there and leading his country in a truly righteous battle was an appealing one. All the same, he’d played the Game too long to take this at face value.

“I presume there are other conditions,” Gaspard said evenly, only the merest hint of hope in his voice. Elisif nodded apologetically and motioned for Briala to step forward.

“Briala is the only one here who I know for sure wasn’t involved with the Venatori,” Elisif said, taking Briala’s hand. “I can use a network of elven spies, and I’m happy to welcome the Ambassador as the Inquisition’s newest ally. I’m willing to believe you aren’t in league with the Venatori, but I can’t know for sure if you can be trusted. So you won’t be ruling alone. You’ll be Emperor, but the Ambassador here will be getting a title and a place in your court, and she will be overseeing your work. Maybe you’ll organise the Orlesian army, but Briala will decide how it’s used. I imagine she’ll have a few ideas about the status of Orlais’s elven citizens too.”

Gaspard stared at Briala in unalloyed horror. Briala stared at Elisif, not quite able to believe what she was hearing.

“Are you… really?” Briala whispered, looking like she might be about to cry again. “You’d give us all that?”

“Gaspard’s going to give you all that,” Elisif told her, glancing at the defeated Grand Duke. “If he doesn’t want me going back out there and telling the Council he and Florianne are both serving Corypheus.”

Gaspard growled, throwing his hands up in disgust… but he knew when he was beaten.

“Ugh! Fine, rabbit, how does Marquise of the Dales sound?”

“That will do nicely, Your Majesty,” Briala purred, inclining her head. “Don’t worry about my demands. You’ll find you can endure them. I’ll keep you in brandy and cigarettes, and you can pose for the statues and portraits and let me worry about the politics. How does that sound, Emperor?”

The mention of brandy and cigarettes had caught Gaspard’s attention.

“I always detested the Game anyway,” Gaspard said, shrugging. “Well, Inquisitor? Ready to shock the court by walking in and telling them you’re putting an elf in charge?”

“Perhaps we’ll just tell them Briala’s been working with us all along and we’re giving her a title for her trouble and you’re taking her as an adviser,” Elisif said delicately. “Madanach, can you go out and tell the Council this privately before we go out and make the speeches? And Briala, stay a second. I’d like to talk to you.”

Madanach grinned, winked at Briala and went out to start preparing people, and Gaspard followed, taking a seat at the table outside and helping himself to a generous serving of port while he waited. While Briala waited to hear what the Inquisitor had to say.

“Was there something else, Herald?” Briala asked, the flush of victory giving way to nerves. “Or… do you prefer High Queen? That is the Dragon Crown, isn’t it? It’s nothing like Varric described it, but it really suits you! You look so different in your armour. Out in your ball gown, you’re pretty but ultimately just another noblewoman trying to get an edge in the Game. In this… you’re something else. You should have just turned up in this in the first place.”

Elisif did laugh at that.

“I don’t know, this didn’t turn out too badly,” Elisif said. “But I don’t think turning up at Celene's stronghold without an army at my back was going to go so well. And we weren’t here to fight. We weren’t even supposed to get involved with the politics… but I suppose that’s a vain hope at Halamshiral.”

“It is,” Briala admitted. “But thank you. I knew your husband might be sympathetic to us, but never did I think Alayna the Dragonborn would walk straight out of the pages of a novel and give us what we wanted.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Elisif said, reaching into her pocket for what she’d intended to hand over. “I’m not sure if anything else was, but you deserve a voice. Use it wisely! And… I’m sorry about Celene. I know you were ambivalent about her at best… but her death must have come as a shock, and I know you don’t stop loving someone because things end badly.”

“No,” Briala said quietly. “I mean… I never… I saw her without her mask, Elisif! I saw her first thing in the morning, when she’d just woken up and the day’s responsibilities hadn’t dropped on her yet, when she wasn’t the Empress, just Celene. Despite everything else, you don’t see someone like that and just forget about them. I miss what we had… what I thought we had. I guess I wasn’t as over her as I thought.”

Elisif quietly held out the elven locket, knowing it should go back to its former owner. Weregild, if making her de facto ruler of Orlais wasn’t weregild enough.

“Here. You should have this. Celene told me to keep it, that she didn’t want it any more. I don’t think she’d stopped having feelings, but you know her. Loving you wasn’t the sensible thing to do so...”

Briala took the locket, staring at it as she let out a little sob.

“You’re giving it back?” Briala whispered, tracing its outline as if she was afraid she’d break it.

“Yes,” Elisif said, unable to keep the smile off her face. “It’s your family heirloom. You keep it and maybe if you meet someone who deserves it, you could give it to them.”

Briala squeezed the necklace then looked up, smile on her face as she straightened up and fastened the locket round her neck.

“After tonight, perhaps I’m the one who deserves it,” Briala said firmly. “Shall we, Inquisitor? They’re waiting for us.”

Elisif took her arm and escorted her out. Time to change Orlais for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one so very nearly went the other way, with Celene and Briala reunited... but I knew there were those in the fandom who thought the relationship was toxic, and I had doubts. And then the vague idea I had that in Trespasser, Celene might want an heir and be after Alistair as a father for that heir and hold that over the Inquisition came to fruition, and I decided to have that here instead. Add that Elisif at this point has no reason to have to maintain peace with Celene in the same way she would if a Tamriel/Orlais peace treaty had happened, and there's already this plot going on... Behold the result. I like how it turned out in the end.
> 
> Next chapter is the wrap-up, in which Elisif, Madanach and Alistair discuss the night's events, and there's a final set of revelations to come as we find out what Celene was really playing at.


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the formal business done, the ball turns into a real party and Elisif's ready to celebrate... but Alistair's been through the wringer tonight and an emotional conversation is on the cards, and the outcome might change their relationship for good. Meanwhile now that the danger's past, Cicero's ready to reveal what he found in Morrigan's office, and it turns out Celene's real motivations go deeper than anyone could have known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one wraps up the whole arc, and finishes everything off. I was going to reveal Cicero's finds to you all a few chapters ago... but then I decided it'd be better suspense-wise to keep it secret until the very end. I hope you've enjoyed the Halamshiral arc, I had so much fun writing it. Hope it's all been worth it!

Elisif barely remembered the speeches. They’d gone by in a blur, Elisif first to speak, announcing the Inquisition were satisfied Gaspard was not working for Corypheus and that they were therefore happy to support him as Emperor of Orlais, and he’d agreed to commit Orlesian forces to the Inquisition cause. And then Gaspard had spoken, and while there’d been an audible gasp as he’d introduced the new Marquise of the Dales, the title given to a fellow Inquisition ally as a reward for her own loyalty, the Dowager had remained impassive and no one actually objected.

Which meant Briala’s speech had gone over better than Elisif had expected. No one booed or walked out so she’d take that as a win.

And now the gathered nobility had decided that, with the formal business concluded, it was time to turn the evening into a real party, which meant Orlais was letting its hair down. The Dowager had retired for the evening, Gaspard was off drinking himself into oblivion, Briala had been ambushed by an enthusiastic Cicero and hauled off to party with the more irresponsible Inquisition attendees, and Elisif had got changed out of her armour, handed her battle gear off to Cullen for packing away and then, back in her ball gown, had headed off to the balcony for some peace. Tonight had been a Night, and while it had certainly been exciting, Elisif really just wanted to go home.

Understanding and sympathy in her brain from a point not far away, and then a presence behind her as Madanach appeared, hand on her back as a pair of heeled boots clattered to the floor. Elisif saw, and burst out laughing.

“You’re finally admitting they’re too much for you?”

“No,” Madanach said uncertainly. “They’re just… my feet needed to breathe.”

“Your feet needed healing magic to sort out the blisters and you’d lost all feeling in your calves, you mean,” Elisif teased. Madanach said nothing, putting an arm round her and kissing the top of her head. Elisif smiled, nestling up against him, just closing her eyes and letting the empathy bond do the talking.

_I’m exhausted._

_Me too. I’m glad you’re here though. I love you._

_I love you too. You’re nice to cuddle._

_You’re good at cuddling._

Not the most intellectually stimulating exchange, but Elisif was done with figuring things out for one evening, and Madanach was clearly inclined to give his brain a rest too. So cuddling in silence it was. 

At least until there were footsteps behind them, footsteps from a soldier’s formal shoes that stopped a few feet away, shuffling hesitantly. Elisif felt Madanach turn.

“Alistair? Everything all right, bion?”

“Yes, yes… not exactly. I missed you both?”

Elisif turned to look, and Madanach held out a hand as Alistair approached, looking… sad. Despite the smile. Madanach didn’t seem to notice anything, but Elisif couldn't shake the fear that he didn’t love her any more… or at least not as much as he had at the start of the evening.

Alistair came to stand on her other side, placing a hand on top of hers. He too had swapped plate armour for his formal gear again, although the shirt was open at the neck. 

“Faffing about with the collar was too much,” Alistair admitted. “Everyone’s out there getting wasted anyway, and they’ve all got better things to talk about than one ex-Warden looking a bit scruffy. Anyway, you two are ones to talk. Your dress is creased, your shawl’s hanging off your shoulder, and look at him. Madanach, you can’t walk around barefoot at a fancy party. It’s unhygienic.”

“Screw that, the marble’s wipe clean,” Madanach said, shrugging.

“You could at least keep your socks on.”

“What, and slip over on the polished marble floor?” Madanach said, scowling. “No thanks. I’m not ending up on my ass because Orlesians can’t handle the sight of feet.”

Alistair burst out laughing, and Elisif felt the tension dissipate. OK, perhaps things weren’t so bad after all. Alistair let her hand go and stared out at the mist-shrouded Dales, still smiling wistfully.

“I wish… I wish things hadn’t had to go the way they did, but… honestly, now I’m over the shock, all I can feel is relief,” Alistair admitted. “I don’t have to marry Celene and I can’t honestly feel any regret at all about it. I mean, she was pretty but… all I felt when I looked at her was empty. It’s so different with you two. I’m just so happy being around you. Like I’m on the best adventure of my life.”

Madanach was preening, lapping up the praise… but there was something in Alistair’s voice. As if somehow, this wasn’t enough.

“Alistair?” Elisif whispered. “Is everything all right?”

Alistair finally turned towards her, shaking his head.

“No,” he finally admitted. “I feel like the sidekick in the Madanach and Elisif show. I’d follow you anywhere, but sometimes I think you don’t even need me.”

Elisif heard Madanach let out a little whimper and she could feel the upset from him. It was as nothing compared to hers.

“That’s not true!” Elisif gasped, taking his hand. “I love you! So does Madanach!”

“I know,” Alistair said, voice quiet and muffled as he wiped at one of his eyes. “I love you both too. But I need more… oh gods, Elisif, don’t cry.”

Elisif hadn’t been able to help herself. Everything he was saying sounded like a break-up speech. She hadn’t even realised he was this unhappy. What did this say about her??

“I’m sorry,” she wept, clinging on to him. “Please don’t leave me.”

Alistair put his arms around her and kissed her cheek, holding her close.

“I don’t want to. But I need more. Do either of you get that? I need to know I’m more than just your plaything. I’m tired of you two being husband and wife and me being just the paramour, ripe for the picking for the next person who wants a leg up in the Game.”

“Alistair bion, after what happened to Celene, I don’t think anyone’s going to try that for a while,” Madanach said, coming to stand with them, arms round them both. If he’d meant it to comfort Alistair, it had the opposite effect as Alistair growled and pushed away from them.

“That’s not what I-” Alistair ran his fingers through his hair, facing away and staring into the darkness, and Elisif felt her heart breaking, because he was clearly suffering and she had no idea how to make it better.

“What do you want?” Elisif whispered. “Please, Alistair. Please tell me, I’ll give you anything you want.”

She saw his shoulders shake, and at the same time she shoved down her own frustration at not being able to _feel_ him, his words echoed her thoughts.

“I want what you two have,” Alistair said roughly. “I want in on your empathy bond. I want… to be part of your family. Really part of it. If… if that’s OK.” 

Alistair’s voice faltered, as if having said that, his courage had run out and now the nerves were getting the better of him.

“It’s not, is it. I shouldn’t have said anything, please forget about it, I won’t bother you again, it’s fine, I-”

He’d turned to go, but Elisif wasn’t having that. She grabbed his arm and whispered for him to stay there, and Alistair stopped, not looking at either of them.

“Is that actually possible?” she asked Madanach. “Extend the bond to bring him in?”

“No,” said Madanach, although his voice did not sound as final as the word implied. “We can’t mess with ours. It’s a marriage bond, they’re not intended to be fucked about with. But… you can have more than one. It’s not recommended – the more people you have in your head, the more difficult it is to handle. If we add Alistair, I’d say that’d make it a bad idea to add anyone else. No third husband. But… you could have Alistair as well. If you were both OK with that.”

Alistair had looked up, eyes finally meeting Madanach’s, face flushing scarlet.

“You… you’re saying yes?” Alistair gasped, it clearly never having occurred to him that either one of his lovers might actually agree to it. Madanach nodded, although Elisif could feel him and he still seemed nervous.

“Yeah, but you’ve got to know what this means. Means you’re committed. To us. To coming back to Tamriel with us, assuming they let us back in and don’t arrest us on sight – or me, more precisely. To leaving Andrastianism behind officially. Leaving everything behind and moving to an entire new culture and country. Having a husband and wife, and being a husband in turn… and a father. You’d be Maia’s third parent… if she’s OK with calling you daddy, of course.”

“I don’t think she’ll have a problem with that,” Elisif whispered, having been privy to Maia quietly telling her she wished Alistair was that very thing, and could she have that for her birthday if she was good?

She might be getting it a bit sooner than that, because Alistair was beaming at them both… and then he got down on one knee and took one of their hands in each of his.

“Will you two do me the honour of marrying me?” Alistair said, smiling up at them with tears in his eyes.

And Elisif, who’d been convinced he was about to leave her, actually squealed, cried out a yes and held out her arms to him. Alistair got to his feet and returned the hug, kissing her briefly… and then Elisif noticed he was still holding Madanach’s hand, and Madanach felt very confused and a bit lost.

“Madanach?” Elisif asked, a bit confused herself. It didn’t feel like no, but he’d not said yes either. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, I – are you really asking me as well?” Madanach asked, in a very small voice most unlike him.

“Well of course I am,” Alistair sighed. “You saved me. I’d have gone mad in that Venatori cell if it wasn’t for you. Of course I want you as well, you’re amazing and cute and you’re just adorable, even when you are celebrating someone you didn’t like getting brutally murdered.”

“If you think I’m cute and adorable, I’m not convinced you didn’t go mad in that cell,” Madanach said gruffly, and Elisif realised he was actually blushing… and he was feeling really emotional.

Elisif held out a hand to him.

“Madanach. Tell Alistair how you feel.”

Madanach looked at her, smiled a little and then went to Alistair, practically melting into Alistair’s arms as he whispered “yes, I’d love to” and squeezed Alistair tight.

Elisif put a free arm round Madanach and Alistair held them both, kissing first her then Madanach.

“Who’s my cute widdle maleficar barbarian,” Alistair crooned over him, and Madanach must care about Alistair because he’d have set anyone else on fire for that. As it was, the magic remained firmly quiescent… or was it. No, it wasn’t quiescent at all, because despite it being early spring and not a cold night, snowflakes were falling around them from nowhere. Warm, glowing snowflakes that stayed on them but disappeared when they touched anything else. She’d seen it for the first time on their wedding night, after they’d made love and Madanach had lain in her arms, tears in his eyes as he’d finally realised his second wife really loved him. She’d seen it last as he’d held Maia in his arms for the first time. Threats to his family brought the icicles and the blizzard. New additions… they tended to bring the snow.

“Oh _wow!_ ” Alistair gasped. “Are you doing that? It’s really pretty.”

“So are you,” Madanach said gruffly, leaning up to kiss him, and Elisif was happy to let Alistair go if it meant she got to watch her husband and husband-to-be kissing and cuddling in the magic snow.

“HELLO! Did the emotional conversation go well?”

Cicero, and it was a mark of Madanach’s happiness that, while he dried his eyes, pulled himself together and was able to switch the snow off, Cicero didn’t immediately have an ice spike flung his way. As it was, Cicero was back in his silk shirt and waistcoat and breeches, and even his pointy boots… although he’d lost the ruffled cravat, and fastening his shirt properly had just been too much hassle.

“Cicero! They didn’t shout at me or dump me or anything!” Alistair cried. “Thank you for making me go through with it, although next time if you could do it without implying you’re going to stab me if I don’t, I’d appreciate it.”

“Alistair needs to learn to communicate his needs to his partners,” was all Cicero said, shrugging his shoulders. “Cicero does what he must to help. If that involves a certain amount of intimidation, well, Alistair should perhaps do it the first time and not have to be physically prevented from running away.”

“Oh Alistair,” Elisif sighed, as Madanach snickered. “You can talk to us, you know!”

“I know,” Alistair said, only looking a little embarrassed. Well, it had all worked out, so Elisif just patted his arm and went to see what Cicero wanted. She’d noticed a lack of hand gestures, which was odd coming from him, and it turned out it was because he was carrying a book. A copy of _Rise of the Dragonborn_ , with bookmarks all over the place. Someone’s prized copy? Couldn’t be his, that was back at Skyhold.

“Cicero, whose is that?” Elisif asked, frowning at it. “Won’t its owner be looking for it?”

“Hardly,” Cicero purred, dropping into Tamrielic. “Not given she is presently otherwise engaged lying in state in the palace’s chapel. It’s Empress Celene’s. Cicero found it in Morrigan’s office, along with a letter to said witch. Cicero was going to show it to you earlier but never got the chance… and then you ordered him to do what he was planning to do anyway!”

Elisif frowned as she took the book, Cicero telling her to read the letter first, it explained everything. So she did… and felt her blood chill to the bone.

“Madanach, get over here,” Elisif whispered. “Look at this. Look at this!”

Madanach took the letter off her and read that, while Elisif pored through the book, Cicero helpfully pointing out Celene’s notes.

_M,_

_I must rely on you, not just because I fear my cousin’s peace summit will provoke another infestation from one Dragon Empire… but because there is no one else I can trust with regards to the other, or who will not think me a raving fool for thinking an adventure story that is clearly borrowing heavily from Tethras’s Inquisition experiences might be more than that. But I can ignore the signs no longer. Here, my personal copy, with annotations, and that monograph the Inquisition published – a monograph proved right because all know the expedition found a staff, not an axe. They’re being cagey on how they know what these alphabets mean, but I think we both know it’s because they come from their homeland. And had you not mentioned the place years ago from your own travels, I would be none the wiser. As it is, it was all too obvious to me who Alayna and Maranil really are, and while I believe their stated aim of dealing with the Venatori is true, I can tell from their actions what their other aims might be. Supporting a schism in the Chantry? Declaring for free mages like they have back home? They could prove a greater threat than these Venatori. I know you’ve said they likely have no interest in being our enemies, but their mere existence could throw Thedas into chaos, and the situation is dire enough as it is._

_Keep these documents safe. For now, we need an Inquisition, and I have no interest in undermining them while Corypheus is still at large and my cousin is rattling his swords. But one day, we will need to act. Specifically, we will need magic, and with the rebels working for them, my court enchanter likewise compromised and the Templars lost to us, I will need any assistance you can render._

_C_

“Is this… Celene _knew_ about Tamriel??” Madanach hissed. “And she thinks we’re… what? Trying to annex Orlais? Impose worship of the Eight in place of the Chantry? Going to ally with Tevinter? We’re working our asses off trying to save her fucking home from itself and she does this??”

“It’s worse,” Elisif whispered, switching back to Thedosian. “Read the notes. You too, Alistair.”

Alistair was too busy reading the letter, crunching it up and gritting his teeth in a barely controlled anger reaction… but he did hand the letter back to Elisif and read the notes over Madanach’s shoulder.

_Alayna’s sword of fire, gifted by the Lady of the Skies to wipe out corruption – Elisif also carries a golden sword with a fire enchantment._

_Alayna’s Voice, a gift of the Maker Akatosh. Elisif known to have voice magic._

_Alayna shouted away the clouds hiding Mount Belenas’ peak so they could get to the summit. Elisif and Maia known as the Stormbreakers because they shouted away the storm that would have killed the Inquisition on the Long March otherwise._

_Maranil a talented battlemage who commanded an insurrectionist movement. Madanach appears from out of nowhere and turns the rebel mages into a true army._

_Eldana, Maranil’s long-lost daughter, marries the penitent assassin Morio Sicarius, who wears a uniform like a harlequin’s. Eola the Blight Witch married to Cicero, a harlequin assassin who no one remembers training. Ages are wrong, Eldana and Morio in their twenties, Eola in her thirties and Cicero older… but they say Madanach looks younger than he should do. We can dismiss the changed appearances – darkened skin, elf-blood, Eldana with slightly pointed ears – as just Tethras trying to draw parallels with Thedosian attitudes._

_Eldana just disturbs me on every level – why is a mercenary band based on Avvar ideals of honour not so distant from the chevalier code employing an apostate mage who it’s strongly implied is a dangerous maleficar? Ulfric attacks Alayna after she descends the mountain for the first time, Alayna flees, Jordis falls defending her… but Eldana survives unscathed and turns up later like nothing ever happened and that’s when we find out her magic was strong enough to fell an entire company of Stormcloaks? She’s also been investigating dragons on her own and worked out where the next attack might be. No one person should be able to do all that. If Eldana is truly that powerful – Eola bears careful watching._

_Alayna’s Dragon Crown, which the text implies is some sort of helm of dragonbone resembling a dragon mask. Elisif’s trademark helm has dragon teeth, arranged in a circle. Like a crown?_

_Maranil’s guard, Shargrim the Bloody. Borkul the Beast. Text says he’s a Tal-Vashoth, but I don’t think this is true. Description matches._

_Managed to save the world and deal with Ulfric by sheer luck, experimental magic, pulling things together at short notice and showing some inspired diplomacy. Tethras is likely embellishing, but if this is even close to true (and it must be, look how quickly the Inquisition’s risen to prominence)… Andraste save us all._

_Winterhold Circle. Not a Templar to be seen, despite an emergency that surely merits them. Do they really not have them?_

_Despite worshipping the Eight, the Temples barely figure. Ulfric is practically the only man of faith here. Aside from the two elven priests._

_Elven priests??? Not a single human seems to think this is odd? One of them’s male!_

_Is the Jarl of Hjaalmarch a mage??? The Jarl of the Rift too??_

_ALDMERI DOMINION. High Elves like Liriel, a whole nation of them, and they arrest humans who believe in this Talos the god who was once a man. They nearly won the last war. All mages. Maker, they are worse than Tevinter and they will destroy us if they can. Story leaves open what happens to them… which means Dominion still exists. Alayna has her kingdom but these Thalmor are at large still. Valirion the renegade Thalmor who managed to beat her to the Horn of Jurgen Wincaller and who tips Alayna off to the Alduin’s Wall excavations in the Reach is clearly Liriel of Alinor, same person who wrote the monograph on ancient Avvar (Nordic) alphabets. Valirion’s depicted as still masquerading as a loyal Thalmor by the end, but the fact Liriel’s now here with Elisif and Madanach – did her cover get blown? Is she here avoiding her fellow countrymen?_

_Does that mean Elisif approves or not? Maranil’s presented as being viciously opposed to Talos worship… but his people had no problem killing the Thalmor who’d wiped out their Sundermount Redoubt camp looking for the Wall. Alayna declares herself apostate from Talos worship at the end, but her real life alter ego may be sheltering an ex-Thalmor. Sundermount named after the mountain near Kirkwall which hosted a Dalish clan for years – Tethras describes this area in a lot more detail than a lot of Skyrim, he’s likely using the real Sundermount as a source. Is this section what actually happened in real life, and why change it? Unless they’re hiding something incriminating that they don’t want getting out. Something that might give the Dominion casus belli?_

_I don’t believe they’re exactly friends with the Dominion, but they’re clearly in no rush to challenge them either. Appeasement would seem to be the policy here, in fact. Maker, no wonder they’re suborning our mages and letting our Templars die. We need Templars more than ever if the Dominion is real. And I fear Briala would be all too pleased to work with them. It breaks my heart but I can see it all too clearly._

_We cannot let this happen to Thedas. Andraste is the Maker’s Bride, we cannot give that up. And here is Anora sowing division when we most need to be united, cosying up to Tamriel because she believes they will protect her from an Exalted March while she follows her father’s mad ambitions._

_Not even Tamriel could stand against us all united. I pray the Chantry elect a new Divine soon. I will need to meet with her and tell her all this. And I… I am the only one respected enough by the other leaders of Thedas to craft an alliance capable of resisting. Gaspard never could, and he’s not pious enough to bother listening to even the Divine unless forced. So Gaspard needs to be dealt with by any means necessary… and Ferelden neutralised. I also need to send a message to Elisif that she does not get to dictate everything that happens to this continent._

_Now where to find someone who might make a decent ruler for Ferelden and won’t cause another uprising. Someone whose change of allegiance might give Elisif pause._

_If he looks anything like Cailan, this might even be pleasurable._

“Oh you fucking _bitch!_ ” Alistair shouted, throwing the book against the wall, Thu’um making the palace shake. 

“Alistair!” Elisif hissed, motioning for Cicero to grab the book while she wrangled Alistair, Madanach on his other side. “Hush! People will notice.”

“Also she’s dead,” Madanach murmured. “She can’t do any of this now. We stopped it. You saw what Celene was thinking. The plan was to dispose of Gaspard, probably do something about Briala too, doubtless influence a conservative choice for Divine, rally a few allies, seduce you away from us, declare an Exalted March on Ferelden and show Tamriel that Thedas is united against her. And now she can’t do any of that because she’s dead. Gaspard doesn’t have a clue and hasn’t got the political clout to organise an alliance, Briala does know but is on our side. No one’s gonna invade Ferelden, we might be able to influence the Divine’s election. It’s fine.”

“Cicero would have revealed this sooner had the orders been otherwise,” Cicero said quietly. “Or disregarded them, allowed Celene’s death and used this as his defence. Cicero is a patriot, pretty ones and Reach-King. Cicero could not allow this. You understand this, yes?”

“I understand,” Elisif whispered. “Take the book and hide it – the letter too. It needs to get back to Skyhold without anyone seeing it, and that includes the Inquisition personnel. Anyone not from Tamriel does not get to see it.”

“Cicero hears and obeys,” Cicero promised. “Do not fear, pretty Elisif. Celene admits in the letter she has told no one. Only this mysterious M. Do you need the witch dealt with as well?”

“Yes,” Alistair said instantly, and Elisif wasn’t far off disagreeing… but he didn’t order Cicero, she did.

“No!” Elisif snapped. “We interrogate her first! From the sounds of the letter, she was trying to talk Celene out of her plans, and she had no way of knowing we’d come here. She might have mentioned bits to Celene in passing and Celene figured the rest out from the book.”

“Did you want Varric dealing with as well?” Cicero asked hopefully.

“No!” Elisif hissed. “Honestly, leave Varric alone, it’s not like we didn’t authorise its release and go over the content. Madanach, can you track down Morrigan and find out what she was playing at?”

“Leave it to me,” Madanach promised. “Cicero, with me. Keep out of sight, watch and if she shows any sign of hostility… you know what to do.”

Cicero beamed and skipped off to change his boots for his jester ones and find his hat and knives, while Madanach, Celene’s letter in hand, prepared to head off to track down Morrigan… who helpfully could be seen making her way up the ballroom. She’d not fled the palace then. A good sign.

“Where do you need me,” Alistair said quietly, more than ready to kill if he had to. “I’m not letting you face her alone.”

“You’re staying with Elisif,” Madanach said, glancing over his shoulder. “I mean it. I have Cicero for back up, Inquisition guards on duty if a fight breaks out. Come if you hear fighting, but otherwise, no. You’re too emotionally involved, Alistair. Leave this one to me. It is the Reach’s fault after all.”

Alistair looked like he was going to object, but Elisif placed a hand on his chest.

“Alistair. Let him do it. Whatever Morrigan can do, he’s probably good at it too.”

He subsided, but as Madanach left, Alistair clung on to Elisif, visibly upset.

“If she hurts him, I’ll...” Alistair didn’t finish the sentence. Elisif held on to him, hushing him.

“ _If_ ,” Elisif said, not sharing Alistair’s fears. When it came to a Witch of the Wilds versus the Witch-King himself… Elisif knew who she’d back any day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_I could wring Morrigan’s fucking neck._

Sheer luck Cicero had happened to search her office and find her notes. Sheer luck Elisif had given in to pragmatism over principle tonight and sacrificed Celene to save both an Inquisition ally and her boyfriend’s affections (although Madanach also knew Cicero wouldn't have let sentiment sway his decisions… and honestly, he could see Cicero going off-message anyway if it meant extra stabbing).

Of course, it had also been sheer bad luck that Morrigan had mentioned something of her travels to Celene, enough for Celene to know Tamriel was real from that damn book, but if they’d known Varric was actually famous in Orlais, or for that matter someone from Tamriel was at court with the Empress’s ear…

Fucking hell. Madanach just shook his head, hating that it had come to this, because he’d always liked the woman. She was polite, respectful, knew what she was talking about, had raised a very cute young child (named after his sister no less) to the age of not quite four before taking her leave. Now here she was again, and they were at loggerheads where once they’d been friends. 

“My lord,” Morrigan said, curtseying as he approached. “I thought you might seek me out again. I was looking to speak with you-”

She gasped as he took her by the arm and hauled her onto the balcony that had once been Briala’s chosen spot to spend the evening.

“Explain this,” he said curtly, shoving the letter into her hands. Morrigan read it then glanced up, surprised.

“You were not aware of its contents when we last spoke?” Morrigan said, frowning. “I knew by then my office had been searched and the book and letter removed, and from the red hairs I found, I knew ‘twas Cicero had been there. I assumed he had told you. I was attempting to warn you! Tevinter was not the enemy you most needed to fear! When Celene perished, I believed you’d heeded the warning.”

“You speak a language no one else here but Elisif, Cicero, Borkul and I understand!” Madanach growled, in said language. “A plain warning to deal with Celene would have been better! I don’t need some vague comment that Orlesians can’t be trusted! I know that already!”

“Yes, and by the end of the evening the threat was neutralised and your Inquisitor stood victorious, as she always does!” Morrigan protested. “’Twould be a great fool to strike against Queen Elisif unless you plan to make the blow a mortal one.”

“Taking Alistair, or trying to, is a great enough blow!” Madanach growled, this close to losing his temper. “We thought it was a combination of being on the rebound and wanting the Orlesian Chantry restored to its former glory! But no. It turns out it was in fact a personal strike at us. And it also turns out it’s _your damn fault_. Because you told her Tamriel was real!”

“Years ago!” Morrigan cried. “Before the war even broke out, and when I could never have foreseen anyone from there visiting! None but I knew how eluvians work. None but I even knew they existed. So yes, I told Celene a little of your home. That I’d lived among other people who’d never heard of the Chant and had no Templars and the world of demons barred to them, who’d delved into magic like no Circle mage ever could, and that I’d learned their secrets. Celene showed little enough curiosity – until war broke out and suddenly she wanted to know more of eluvians and teleportation magic. Even so, I told her precious little. You yourselves told her more when you published that book! You had the foremost storyteller in all Thedas tell your wife’s rise to power, published it on the eve of the peace talks, and expected the greatest player of the Game in Orlais to take no notice of it? All Orlais suspects the characters are based on you and Elisif. They just think the story’s an Avvar fable that Tethras is rewriting with an Avvar Inquisitor in the title role.”

“And Celene might have thought that too, if _someone_ hadn’t told her Skyrim really existed!” Madanach roared at her. “After all we did for you?? You were dying in childbirth when you staggered through Keirine’s portal, the way she tells it. We save your life and give you a home and this is how you repay us?? Alistair tells me you can’t be trusted – is he right??”

“No!” Morrigan cried, and Madanach turned away wearily. How the actual fuck had it come to this? He liked Morrigan. He really did. But he was going to have a hard time getting past this, and part of him wanted nothing more than to go back to Alistair, take him in his arms and tell him he’d been right.

Except Morrigan had ever been full of surprises and she stopped him in his tracks with two words he’d never heard from her before.

“I’m sorry. Madanach, please. If I knew you and Elisif were ever likely to come here, not a word of the Reach would ever have passed my lips, I swear.”

“Your damn book sent us here,” Madanach snapped, turning around. “I was dying and the only thing left to try sent Elisif here as payment. I came to find her. Keirine punched a hole to one of the rifts for us. THAT is how we got here, because of magic you gave us. And...” He stopped because all of this was a reason to thank her, not damn her. And there hadn’t been any way for her to predict they’d come here. Madanach hadn’t even known he’d be coming here.

“Yes, and if my magic can serve you again, you have it,” Morrigan whispered. “I know I misjudged. But I will find you a weapon against Corypheus, I swear it.”

Madanach closed his eyes and wondered if he could do this. What would Elisif do? Forgive or walk away?

_If you’re walking away, finish her off. Don’t leave her alive to harm you again._

_If you’re going to forgive her, do it wholeheartedly… but make sure you get something out of it. We’re owed keteen._

_She’s evil, Madanach! You can’t trust her!_ Alistair’s opinion, that. And while Madanach did trust his lover’s opinions, Morrigan had lived among them for years. His sister had spoken well of her… or rather, she’d opined that Morrigan was the daughter of a dangerous witch and a dangerous witch herself, fleeing magical persecution and to take that as he would. Madanach had laughed and said wasn’t dangerous witchcraft the Reach’s lifeblood? And Morrigan had proven her worth and given them victory in the end.

If she owed them now, it only meant the debt he owed her was smaller now. And… if anything happened to her, Kieran would be all on his own. He remembered a dark-haired little boy with grey eyes, wandering into his command tent and seeming to know more than he let on.  
 _  
“You’re the king! I never met a king before.”_

_“I was in prison, bion. I didn’t get out much.”_

_“… aren’t you meant to be scary? Everyone says you’re scary. But you’re not.”_

_“… well spotted, bion. Don’t tell the others. They’ll never do anything I tell them if they find out.”_

Kieran had giggled and promised not to, and then he’d looked serious.

_“You’re ill. Your chest’s wrong. And your head.”_

Madanach hadn’t known what to say to that, and then Morrigan had arrived to retrieve her son, hoping he wasn’t bothering the king.

_“Ah he’s not bothering me. He’s got magical potential, you know. Was his father a mage too?”_

_“Not that I’m aware of. But there’s enough mage blood on my side. Come, Kieran. We’ve disturbed King Madanach enough.”_

Kieran had followed his mother out but he’d turned with a parting shot. He’d wished Madanach would get better soon.

It had taken more than a little boy’s simple wish, but it had been a kind thought and Madanach remembered it now.

Gods damn it.

“You’d fucking better, Morrigan,” Madanach snapped, turning around. “You’re coming back with us to Skyhold as an Inquisition asset, and you’ll work under my supervision… and Eola’s.”

There, that should unnerve her at least a bit. Apart from the bit where Morrigan actually seemed relieved.

“I will do my best to assist your efforts,” Morrigan promised. “And ‘twill be good to see Eola again. She was ever skilled, I do not believe she has grown less so.”

“You can say that again,” Madanach said, recalling the one time he’d gone to have a look round her Blight workroom, and immediately regretted it. He’d not gone back. He wondered what Morrigan would make of it. “Just keep Kieran out of her workroom. He’s coming with you, yes?”

“He goes where I do, Madanach,” Morrigan said, inclining her head. And Madanach couldn't quite stop himself smiling at that.

“Well then, you can tell him King Madanach got better and will be pleased to see him again,” Madanach said, finally deciding he could afford to relent on this one. “I bet he’s never met an Inquisitor before. I can guarantee Elisif will be happy to talk to him.”

“I shall be sure to tell him,” Morrigan promised, finally smiling as she sensed she was forgiven… this time. “Thank you, Madanach. It’s more than I’d hoped for.”

“Ugh, don’t make me regret it,” Madanach said wearily. “As it is, I’ve got to go back and explain to Alistair he’s going to be seeing more of you. He’ll love that. Try not to antagonise him, hmm? You don’t have to like him, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t actually mistreat him.”

“Alistair has nothing to fear from me,” Morrigan said, and Madanach almost believed it. “I have discovered other priorities in the ten years since last I saw him. I would hope he is not the boy I knew back then too?”

Madanach hoped so too. The last thing he wanted was to have his future husband constantly scrapping with his old-new asset.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Borkul hadn’t left Josie’s side since the murder. He knew she’d been an advocate of supporting Celene and didn’t like violence… but she seemed quiet and shaken even more than he’d thought. So he’d left only to get out of his armour, then sat by her side, providing drinks and company and occasionally snapping at Yvette to perhaps do her squealing about how exciting and was the Game always like this somewhere else? And then Varric and Sera had appeared and taken Yvette off to join the Inquisition drinking games, and Borkul had relaxed, figuring she’d be in good hands.

Which just left Josie.

“So,” Borkul asked, passing her a brandy shot. “You OK? I’m sorry about Celene. I know you’d have preferred we back her.”

Josephine just nodded. 

“It… has been a trying evening. First learning I did not know my colleagues as well as I thought, then the deaths and...” Josephine took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“But the Herald did well. We have an alliance with Orlais and I’m sure Marquise Briala will do great things. I’m sure I take no pleasure in the great and good of Orlais scrabbling to salvage alliances and standing in the wake of all this, realising their traditional networks are now worthless and they must all now attempt to curry favour with an elf.”

Which was funny, no, fucking hilarious, and Borkul snickered. 

“Yeah, it all worked out,” Borkul said, raising his own glass. “I mean, shame about Celene, but maybe if she hadn’t been chatting up the Herald’s boyfriend, Elisif might have helped her. Seriously. Dick move, pardon my language.”

“It’s fine,” Josephine said distantly. There was a heavy pause, and then Josephine took a deep breath and turned to face him.

“Messere, I need to inquire about your intentions towards my sister.”

Borkul blinked, not sure he’d understood the question.

“I dunno. Make sure no one gets any ideas, that she doesn’t make a drunken idiot of herself, get her home safe. Maybe write her about arty stuff. I’m not one for fannying about with water-colours, but she seemed to think there might be interest in metal sculptures. Apparently there’s always nobles into peasant chic. Rustic and naive art. I could make some of those. Thinking of doing one commemorating tonight. Death of an Empress or something.”

Josephine shivered a little, but then frowned. As if he’d completely misunderstood the question.

“That is fascinating, my lord, but that was not my concern. As Yvette’s elder sister and the eventual head of our family, it is my responsibility to supervise and educate her and ensure her connections are both appropriate for her station and suitable for her future happiness. And so I was inquiring...”

“Oh. You’re trying to find her a husband – I get tha… wait. Me? And Yvette???”

“You’ve been talking with her a great deal all evening and she certainly seems taken with you, and when that Fade rift was sounding off, your priority was to get her away from it. I wished to know...”

Josephine’s tone was neutral but her expression was anything but and she sounded deeply upset about the whole idea. Borkul didn’t blame her. The idea was pretty horrifying to him too.

“I don’t want to marry Yvette!” Borkul cried. “I’m not interested in her that way! She’s too young. And she’d get on my tits if I had to live with her. I dragged her away from the rift cause she was the only one stupid enough to want to go near the thing unarmed. Thought you might prefer it if your little sister didn’t die. I like talking about art with her but that’s because I like it and she’s interested in it too.”

“You’re serious,” Josephine whispered. “You actually like art? It wasn’t a device to get Yvette’s attention?”

“No!” Borkul said, looking around at the paintings on the ceiling. “I mean, carving into your enemies and terrifying everyone else is great, but the ones who appreciate it most are the ones who end up dead. And I can’t keep on fighting forever. But… all these pictures. These sculptures and portraits. They have emotional effects, you know? And the people who have them don’t end up dead cause of it. Best bit is, I don’t need to be there every time. I just make the art once, put it up and people can come look at it. It’s like carving an enemy into pieces, except instead of impressing a few survivors, you get to impress loads of people and you can keep doing it. Forever. Why wouldn't I want a piece of that? That and Solas is doing it back at Skyhold, painting that round room with Inquisition events. I want to show the smug bastard up. You know what I mean. Even when he’s complimenting you, it sounds like an insult.”

“I could not comment on Messere Solas’s intentions but the artwork is truly skilled,” Josephine said demurely. “I… had not thought you the type to take an interest. Bur I’m pleased for you, truly! If you need anything in the way of materials or tools, let me know at once. Skyhold’s Great Hall is nearly fully renovated, we could appreciate a few sculptures in there if you were minded to make them?”

“What, seriously?” Borkul gasped, looking up to see Josephine smiling at him, suddenly no longer looking worried at all. 

“Of course! I think it might help raise morale. It is mostly mages and scholars who pass through Solas’s chamber. Everyone sees the Great Hall. It will do our reputation no harm to have sculptures of our feats on display.”

“Awesome, cos I’ve been working on one from the Long March, showing Maia shouting the storm away and all these hands holding her up so she can face it on its own terms. I was hoping it’d be easier to get permission to display it if it starred Maia. Elisif and Madanach ain’t gonna say no to celebratory art of their kid, are they?”

“I should say not,” Josephine laughed, delight and excitement shining out of her face and Borkul quite forgot that he was an Orc bodyguard and she was a fine lady from a noble family, only that she was beautiful and bright and adorable and she was looking that way at him too. He put an arm round her and pulled her closer and not only did she not resist, her arms were going round him too. Borkul finally threw caution to the wind, leaned down and kissed her, lips gently going against hers and the tusks not getting in the way as much as he’d thought. 

Josephine broke away, face flushed but smiling and happy and tears in her eyes and…

“You… truly have no interest in Yvette?”

After all that, she still had to ask.

“Nah. I prefer my women with a brain. Ya know. Smart. Able to figure shit out. Able to work out what was up with that elf we found, and that Briala might not have actually sent her there, and that from one chevalier found tied to a bed that Gaspard was planning a coup not an assassination, and that the Venatori plot wasn’t even being suspected by either Celene or Gaspard. And that all helped, Josie! It helped Elisif figure out what was going on and make a decision, and I know you didn’t agree with it… but if we’d thought Briala really had tried to have an agent killed, or that Gaspard was with the Venatori too… who knows. It ain’t my problem, and I bet Elisif knows stuff I don’t. Shit happened, but I hope it works out.”

Josephine placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it.

“Truth be told, when Celene died, after the shock had passed, all I felt was… disappointment. She was the best of Orlais, the brightest star, a renowned diplomat, one of the most intelligent people I ever met… and she was so focused on her own concerns, she never saw this coming. No one did. Not even Gaspard, and he was close to Florianne. Germain de Chalons was the only one who noticed anything, that his favourite niece had not come to talk to him all evening, and even he did not think she was going to turn traitor. The Game has become so insular in the last few years. That no one was aware of infiltration and corruption by a foreign power… it is a scandal. I hope Orlais learns from this. I believe Gaspard will.”

“Let’s hope so, or it’ll be him next,” Borkul said, arm round Josephine as he hugged her. “Listen, I ain’t great at this sort of thing. No one romances an Orc. I can’t promise you won’t get fed up and leave me for not figuring etiquette out. But… I do like you. A lot. And if you wanted to spend time with me, I’d be OK with that.”

Josephine beamed at him, arms around his neck.

“No one has ever shown you any romance?” Josephine asked, surprised. “Perhaps I need to do something about that. Messere Borkul, would you do me the honour of accepting this dance?”

She held out her hand and bowed most prettily, and Borkul took it, letting her lead him on to the dance floor. He hadn’t got a clue how to dance, of course. But somehow, with Josephine in his arms, it didn’t seem to matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd finish off with a nice romantic scene for you. Alistair will not be pleased about Morrigan but he'll put up with it.
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing Celene's notes and coming up with the Tethras version. I rewrote a lot and basically had to come up with a version with no Delphine, Esbern or Guild, not mentioning the werewolves, keeping Sky Haven Temple hidden and coming up with an origin story for Eola that hid the Namira Shrine thing and just combined her with Aela instead.
> 
> Next chapter will be dropping in at Skyhold, to see what the Inquisition has been up to in the meantime. Eola's been Acting Inquisitor. :D


End file.
